


Perchance to Dream

by irishlullaby13



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreamsharing, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:57:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5128487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishlullaby13/pseuds/irishlullaby13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an attack from Pandora, Ichabod awakens to find himself in a unfamiliar yet familiar place where he has everything he has ever wanted.  But, is everything as it seems?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's a working title. May change or it may not depending on if my muses get their way. Warnings/tags will be updated as I go... mostly because I don't know what all to warn for yet.
> 
> Basically... this is why I shouldn't be allowed to drive for 11 hours while listening to the Black Keys.

_He staggered backwards and collapsed into Abbie's arms as she rushed forward, crying out his name. This was becoming a very painful habit of his; recklessly throwing himself into the path of something that might hurt Abbie. Christ, it hurt... everywhere. Somehow he felt like he was not dying or that he had received physical harm._

_He just wanted to die for the simple fact that he would not be hurting._

_Abbie was holding him in her arms, stroking his face. "No, no," she said with desperation. The cloaked figure of Pandora swished over to stand over him. "What did you do to him?"_

_"Don't worry my beautiful, brave one," Pandora said sweetly. "He's not dying. Not yet anyway. No, no... But, he will mostly likely lose consciousness. It's best that way, I think. Less painful. Yes, a lot less painful. Physically anyway."_

_Abbie looked up at the woman. "What. Did you. Do?"_

_"Are you worried?" Pandora asked. She smiled and shook her head gently. "Don't worry. He can come back. He just has to want to." She laughed, her voice like like a beautifully wicked melody. "But will he want to, with all the temptations that await him?" She stood over them, she looked so very pleased with herself. "Or perhaps, it is even better this way."_

_He wanted to call out to Abbie, cling to her, but the pain had rendered him both unable to talk and unable to reach for her. All he could do was lay there helpless in her arms. He dreaded losing consciousness, there was no telling what horrors he would have to face once he did._

_The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was Abbie looking down at him. If he wasn't mistaken there had been tears in her eyes as Pandora lovingly touched Abbie's hair, a look of blind fury filled Abbie's dark eyes._  
  
##  
"Abbie!" 

Ichabod sat up, gasping for breath as her name was finally able to leave his lips. He was only vaguely aware of a stirring beside him until a solitary pale light clicked on. A soft, gentle hand touched his arm as he tried to pull his mind out of the haze. A second hand stroked his back.

"Babe... Come on babe," Abbie's voice said softly. "Breathe. Remember to breathe. Focus... Come on, latch on to my voice and come back to me."

"Abbie," he said weakly, his breathing finally starting to steady. He blinked as his vision became clearer. He was in a bedroom. He was in a bed. The hand stroking his arm trailed over the slope of his shoulder, up his next, and under his chin. Careful fingers touched the other side of his face and made his head turn. 

He was in a bedroom, in a bed... with Abbie. He found himself breathless for an entirely different reason. She smiled gently, he could see the glow of love and affection in her dark eyes.

"There we are," she said, her voice just as soothing as her hands on his bare skin. "It was just a nightmare, babe. The doctor said they might be pretty bad while you tried to adjust. Remember? Do you need to talk about it?"

Ichabod blinked at Abbie. Abbie stroking his face. Abbie, her hair wrapped up in a bright silk cloth. Abbie... in a sleeping gown, which the thin strap had fallen down her arm and was dangerously close to exposing her womanly delights. His fingers twitched and he slowly pulled the strap back into its rightful place. 

"I'm... fine. I'm fine," he said quietly. "Yes... I'm fine."

It had been a dream, he told himself. A dream.

Abbie urged him to lay down. She clicked off the light and he felt her snuggle up next to him, her hand finally coming to a rest on his chest. "We'll get through this," she said softly. "I promise. They said it would just take time. And, right now, we've got a lifetime at our disposal."

"Yes," Ichabod breathed. "Yes. A dream. Nothing more."


	2. Chapter 2

_"Let's see," Jenny said, pacing back and forth with an old, tome in her hands. "There's over a hundred types of sleeping curses. The trick will be finding out which one it is. Although technically we could, theoretically, go through each one and try the cures."_

_"She said something about temptations," Abbie replied. "Him having everything he's wanted. Does that help narrow it down?"_

_"Not really. I think only five just go straight for being nightmares. Do you know who gave the spell power? Was it a witch, a magical creature...?"_

_Abbie thought hard for a moment. What had been the name... "Pasithea?"_

_They grew quiet as a nurse entered the room to their check on Ichabod, who was still unconscious but had been taken to the hospital by the EMTs. Jenny flipped through the old pages until the nurse made her way out of the room._

_"Pasithea, Greek goddess and wife to Hypnos, god of sleep," Jenny read. "She is the personification of hallucinations, relaxation, and meditation. She doesn't seem all that bad. That knocks the list down to about... ninety."_

_"We can deal with ninety," Abbie said, jumping out of her seat and hurrying to her sister's side._

_"Just one small problem," Jenny said. "With most of them we need to know exactly what he's dreaming."_

_Now the question was, how to get into Ichabod Crane's head..._

  
##  


Ichabod had thought, perhaps, once he had gone to sleep he would awaken in the dour tunnels underneath Sleepy Hollow, having fought off whatever attack Pandora had struck him with. Instead he awoke to gentle sunlight pouring in on his face and a serene breeze lightly disturbing the sheer white curtains. Logically he knew it was most likely the air conditioning causing the disturbance, mostly because he could tell the window was closed.

He sat up in the bed and looked around curiously. Before he had fallen back to sleep, he had failed to recognize that he was in Abbie's bedroom, in her bed. It wasn't so much that he had never really been in her room--quite the contrary he often went into her bedroom--it was just that he had never looked at it from this particular angle before. He was more accustomed to looking _toward_ her bed as opposed to _from_ it.

It was quite a welcome change.

Noise from movement within the house filtered down the hallway. Ichabod looked beside him in the bed. There was evidence that Abbie had once been there beside him. Crumpled bed linens, the silky night shift she had been wearing and the silk cloth in which she had wrapped her hair lay in a heap next to her pillow. 

He had been so foggy headed when he awoke last night, it hadn't even registered that it was out of the ordinary for him to be sharing a bed with Abbie. Between his current state of undress and the implication that Abbie had changed clothing mere feet away from where he slept, he felt it was safe to say they had somehow started a relationship. 

Also, she had called him _babe_ , which should not have made him feel as giddy as it did.

His thoughts stopped short when his gaze fell on a picture frame on Abbie's side of the bed, atop the night stand. Normally it was a photo of her and Miss Jenny that was in a festive pink frame that was in that place. Instead, an elegant stainless steel frame took its place. And instead of the picture being Abbie and Jenny, it was of him and Abbie.

Ichabod retrieved the photo and looked down at it in awe. He was in a modern grey suit. She was in a shimmering, sleeveless white dress that hugged her every curve. He was standing behind her, arms around her, and he was kissing her cheek. And they were showing off rings on their left hands. He set the picture down and looked at his hand.

A gold band was on his finger, just as it had been in the photograph. Far be it from being a custom in his time, he was familiar with the modern tradition of wedded couples to wear matching rings. Did that mean... Was Abbie his... No, no... Yes! No...

No. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Last he recalled, before awakening the night before, he had been writhing in pain in Abbie's arms after jumping in front of an attack from Pandora. Was he... dead? Good Lord had he died and gone to Heaven?

No, Abbie wouldn't be with him unless she herself had also perished. And he had severe doubts that in her version of Heaven would she be married to him. Her vision of Hell, perhaps, considering how often he infuriated her lately.

Or, perhaps _he_ was in Hell and this was all a deception, teasing him with all that he had wanted, only to tear it away later. Had Pandora sent him to Purgatory? Whilst it seemed rather unlikely, Ichabod couldn't help but wonder if something dark and sinister lay just below the surface of this seemingly pleasant vision. 

He crawled out of the bed and tread lightly to the end of the bed where a shirt and a pair of tartan pattern pyjama pants were tossed haphazardly over the footboard. It surely was hell indeed if he was to be expected to wear such an atrocity. 

Obviously Abbie had dressed herself for the day, it was perhaps of his best interest to do the same.

Ichabod approached the closet and grasped the small knob with trepidation. Taking a deep breath he flung the door open and jumped back, expecting something--anything really--to leap out and attack him. After about five seconds the only thing that had attacked him was a poorly stored umbrella which fell from the top shelf.

With exception of the umbrella, the closet was organized tidily. Abbie's clothes, it seemed, inhabited one half of the closet and his the other. He almost went into a panic when he realized his normal fare was nowhere in the collection of neatly pressed trousers, Oxford shirts, sweaters, and ties. The only saving grace was that he rectified going into a panic would be giving whomever was truly in charge of the vision what they wanted.

"You shall not have the satisfaction of seeing me lose control of my facilities," he huffed aloud. "Especially over something as irrelevant and of small consequence as my clothing."

Roughly ten minutes later he was as properly attired as he was going to get for the moment. Mostly because he had been unable to locate proper footwear and had to commandeer a pair of fluffy pink slippers. They undoubtedly belonged to Abbie, as he had to force his feet into them.

He carefully eased down the hallway, going toward the noise. As he got closer he realized, in addition to the noise of plates clattering against one another, there were voices. Three very distinct voices. One was very clearly Abbie's. The other two were younger voices. A young girl and a boy.

"Does this mean he's going to forget to pick us up today?" the boy asked. His voice small and gentle.

"No," Abbie replied. 

"It just means no sudden movements or being loud, Jeremiah," the girl replied, annoyance very clear in her lightly accented voice. "And that we need to make sure we have Aunt Jenny's phone number with us in case he _does_ forget. _Again_."

"Hey," Abbie said sharply. "Watch that tone, Emma. Daddy tries really hard, okay. He can't help it. He doesn't like forgetting things. You know how he is on good days. He doesn't forget anything."

"Stevie says Daddy forgets because he doesn't love us," the boy added.

"Who the hell is Stevie?" Abbie asked. "On second thought, I don't care. I have had it with these people. Next time Stevie says something like that, I want you to punch him in the face. Your Daddy has PTSD, he can't help having bad days. And he loves you, even on the days he can't remember. _But_ we don't know if he's going to have a bad day yet, do we? No we don't."

Ichabod slowly peered around the doorway that led into the kitchen. Whilst he had awakened the night prior and Abbie had soothed him enough to sleep once again and he had just come to realize they were married... the likelihood of children had not occurred to him.

Children.

They had... children.

Two beautiful children.

He glanced around the kitchen from the doorway, again expecting something to jump out and start wrecking havoc. At this point even child wearing a ghostly mask hopping out and shouting "boo" would have made him feel his paranoia was just. Instead Abbie looked his way and smiled.

She smiled in a way that made his heart feel light and like he could float on the air.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. We were wondering if you were going to join us for breakfast," Abbie greeted. 

The children turned slightly to watch him as he stepped tentatively into the kitchen. "Good morning, Daddy," the children echoed.

"Do you know who we are?" the boy asked. He couldn't be any older than six, Ichabod reasoned, his dark eyes impossibly big and vulnerable as he wedged a finger into the gap between his front teeth.

Ichabod stood proud and tall, hands clasped behind his back. "Of course I know precisely who you are, Jeremiah..." He looked to the girl. She was tall and lanky but couldn't have been any older than ten. "And of course, Emma... you are... my..." he glanced at Abbie and she nodded gently. Ichabod swept across the kitchen to the children and gathered them both into a hug. "You are... my children," he said quietly. "My..." He looked at Abbie again and felt himself smiling. " _Our_... lovely and wonderful children."

"See," Abbie said cheerfully. "He knows who you are. Now, let's eat, I got to get you kids off to school."

"Daddy, you're squishing me," Emma objected, trying to pry herself from his embrace.

Ichabod let them go despite not wanting to ever do so. He eased into the vacant seat at the island and Abbie put a plate of flapjacks down in front of him. She had, of course, smothered it in syrup as he liked them. And she had also topped them with chopped up strawberries, which she had carefully shaped into a heart.

Emma peered over at his stack of flapjacks, rolled her eyes, and groaned with annoyance as she ate her waffle. "You two are gross," she huffed around a mouthful.

"Not as gross as the girl eating with her mouth full of food," Abbie quipped.

Ichabod had two, perfectly logical reasons for not wanting to eat his flapjacks. One, he would make ruin of the token of Abbie's affections. Secondly, he still wasn't entirely convinced he was not in some very warped version of Purgatory. Did this version of Abbie know of Purgatory?

Why was everything so bright and cheery? He distinctly recalled Purgatory being quiet dreary and dreadful. And why was Abbie looking at him like she wanted to grab his face and kiss him--Oh, of course... He was her husband. Of course she would want to be affectionate toward him.

She pulled the plates away from the children as they finished up their breakfast. "All right, go brush your teeth and grab your bags," Abbie said. "It's almost time to go." Both of the children grumbled but slid out of their seats to go do as their mother had bade. She watched the doorway for a moment then, once a door could be heard opening, she looked at Ichabod squarely. "You didn't remember them." It was a statement of fact rather than a question. She smiled gently. "You know they understand if you forget at times."

"What excuse is there for a father to forget his children exist?" Ichabod asked. And it hadn't sounded like they understood. In fact, Emma seemed out right irritated by it.

"I'd say going through extreme trauma can make people forget a lot of things," Abbie said. She came around the island, stopping short when her eyes fell to the pink slippers on his feet. "Really? Again?" She pointed at his feet. "This is why I tell you to bring your shoes to the bedroom with you at night. It's also why I started getting the slippers that only cost a dollar." He was about to apologize, but then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Hey, I was teasing... I ain't mad, Ichabod. So stop looking like a kicked puppy." She stood on her toes and brushed her lips over his. "Your breakfast is getting cold."

She breezed out of the kitchen. Ichabod picked up his plate and hurried over to the microwave. He set the plate inside and quietly closed the door. Ichabod dashed to the laundry room and plundered through the baskets. There had to be at least _one_ somewhere in the house... surely if this were a place consisting of all his worldly desires he would have at least one--

"What are you doing?"

Ichabod froze then slowly turned to face the girl standing in the doorway. Emma had her arms folded over her chest, she looked surprisingly intimidating despite not yet being very tall. He was about to come up with some convoluted tale to explain what he was doing, but then he realized, he was the girl's father. "Since when does a parent have to explain their actions to their child?" he asked.

Emma arched an eyebrow in a manner he felt he should find very familiar, yet didn't because he had never been on the receiving end of it. It was paired with a cocky, know-it-all smirk. " _Mum_ ," she called, not even bothering to look over her shoulder. "Daddy is looking for his re-enactment costume and has made a mess of the laundry."

_How did she know what--_. Oh right, it was his dream, therefore she would know precisely what he was looking for.

A few short seconds later, Abbie walked up behind Emma. The child put her fists on her hips and looked quite pleased with herself. Abbie's eyes swept over the scene Ichabod had lain out on the laundry floor. He imagined he looked quite ridiculous knelt down and surrounded by over turned baskets and dirty clothes.

"Go help your brother with his shoes," Abbie said. Emma's smugness instantly deflated and she rolled her eyes as she turned and stomped off. Abbie shoved aside the discarded laundry and knelt down in front of him. "You put your costume in storage three years ago, Ichabod. Right after..." her voice trailed off and she looked away for a moment. She drew in a deep breath then sighed heavily before handing him a phone. "You left your phone in the bedroom. I've already set a reminder for 1:30 so you don't forget to pick up the kids. You need to be at the school no later than 2:30 or it'll be a madhouse trying to get in line. _And_... I have the school programmed into navigation, just in case you can't remember how to get there."

Ichabod took the phone and stared down at it. He still was not entirely certain what context this dream was taking but he was torn between wanting to hug Abbie tightly and weeping from the sheer love and support she was giving him. Perhaps even both.

"Hey, don't start crying on me," Abbie said, her voice crack with emotion as she reached up to tuck his hair behind his ear. "Because I'll start crying and then Jeremiah will start crying and Emma will start complaining about being late for school. Just get this mess picked up before I get home this afternoon, okay?"

Ichabod swallowed hard and nodded. Abbie gave him a quick kiss on lips. Whether by instinct or simply because it was something he had longed to do for ages, Ichabod slid his hand behind her neck. He pressed his lips to hers again. He fought down the impulse to just completely devour her and kept the kiss chaste... safe. Just in case he sensed her pull away in any manner.

Instead of pulling away, he felt Abbie smile against his lips. "Or, if it's not a busy day I can see about coming home around lunch," she said quietly.

"That sounds like a... most delightful idea," Ichabod replied.

"I'll see what I can do." Abbie then pulled away, standing back to her full height. She waved a finger around at the clothes on the floor. "Mess. Gone by time I get home." Ichabod stood and brushed the wrinkles out of his trousers before walking back to the kitchen. Abbie was helping the children get their backpacks on. "Come on, give Daddy love before you leave. We're going to be late."

"Maybe if you hadn't been playing kissy face with him in the laundry we wouldn't be," Emma huffed. She did, however give Ichabod a quick hug before hurrying out the door.

Jeremiah flung his arms around Ichabod's legs. "Bye Daddy, love you. I hope you have a good day today," he said quietly before following Emma out.

Last was Abbie, who gave Ichabod a playful swat on his backside as she hurried toward the door. "See you later. If I can't make it home at lunch I'll send Jenny over. Don't forget to take your meds. I left your pill box next to the bottle of water on the island."

Ichabod nodded as she shut the door behind her. He walked over to the island and glared at the blue and yellow pill case. If he could guess by which of the compartments were open, it was currently Tuesday. Little pills of various shapes were inside each little compartment, several for "AM" and three for "PM." He picked up the case, promptly walked it over to the trash bin, and threw the case and it's contents into the bin.

And that resolved _that_ issue, he thought to himself. Now all he had to do was find where exactly "storage" was...


	3. Chapter 3

_Abbie looked over the list of possible cures. One list was of things they could try without knowing what Ichabod was dreaming. The other involved things they could only do if they found a way to enter into his dream and fight whatever was holding him there. Both lists were surprisingly short._

_It was funny how most of the sleeping curses had similar cures. There was even the timeless cliche of true love's kiss, which had been a cure for all but two of the curses. Despite the many variations and aspects of love, Abbie felt there was no way true love's kiss would work for Ichabod. Mostly because she was pretty certain he had plunged a knife into the one person he considered his true love._

_She moved on to considering other cures but her eyes always drifted back to true love's kiss and she would debate other definitions of what could be considered "true love." Did it have to be mutual or was one-sided enough? Did it have to be romantic? Could the mutual respect and love of friendship work? Would it work if he felt one type of love and the person that attempted the kiss felt another?_

_There were so many variables._

_Too many variables for that to be attempted just yet._

_Counter-spells were a good, logical start. Counter-spells were, for the most part, tangible and didn't have many variations to consider. They just had to try them between the various checks the hospital staff did so not to have explain what the hell they were doing._

_Jenny walked in, three dusty spells books under one arm and a basket of ingredients hanging on the other. "I told them he was raised by hippies and would be pissed if we didn't at least attempt holistic cures," Jenny explained._

_"And that worked?" Abbie asked._

_"Once they finished rolling their eyes, it did," Jenny replied. "I promised we would double check to make sure nothing would interact badly with what they've got him on. This first batch passed inspections. But we have to kinda keep it discrete."_

_Abbie set aside the list for the moment. "Let's get started then."_

  
##  


His day was turning out to be quite long.

Despite Miss Jenny's attempts make him eat or drink something at lunch, Ichabod had restrained himself. It was a considerably harder feat in this strange state he was in as, when in Purgatory, he had not felt the sting of hunger. It was enough to make him wonder if, perhaps, he was indeed in a strange reality in which he and Abbie had met under different circumstances. 

Also, people didn't just randomly appear from nowhere. Miss Jenny's arrival had been heralded by a knock at the door. Even when he looked outside, everything and everyone seemed to go about their day as they would at any other time. One neighbour became frustrated because their car would not start, ravens fought over a shiny bit of paper that had been dropped on the ground, joggers went past the house only twice--once in one direction and back in the other in an appropriate amount of time to suggest they were returning home from their exercising.

It was frustrating to say the least. This was compounded by the fact, at times when no one else was around, he swore he could hear Miss Jenny and Abbie speaking in hushed whispers in his head. It was obviously in his head, as neither were present. Their voices were speaking in a rhythmic pattern, as if repeating the words to a spell but he couldn't quite make out the words or the language they were speaking.

Perhaps if their voices were just a little louder...

He startled when he saw a car pull up in the drive and Abbie got out. She was home early! The reminder hadn't even gone off for him to go pick up the children--or had it? He double checked and no, it hadn't, he still had half an hour in fact. He could have sworn she had said she would only send Miss Jenny over if she was unable to leave early... yet there she was.

Ordinarily he would have been delighted at the sudden reappearance of his partner. Except she did not look entirely too thrilled. Ichabod rushed to the laundry and started pushing dirty clothes into emptied baskets. He heard the entry door close loudly and listened to her footfalls as they made their way through the house, into the kitchen.

"Of course not," he heard her say with annoyance. "Ichabod, what are you doing?"

He glanced down at the clothing gathered in his arms. It was the last of the laundry to be put back into the baskets. "I am... washing the laundry," he stated, moving to the doorway between the two rooms. "I see you managed to make it home early after all."

"Yeah," Abbie said, nodding. "I did." She was using that tone he really disliked, the one she used when he did or said something that sat wrong with her. She set her purse on the island. "Jenny stopped by my office after leaving here."

"Did she? Although, that should be expected," Ichabod commented. "She lives outside of town and rarely gets the chance to--" Abbie pulled a blue and yellow pill case from her purse and set it on the island counter next to her purse. Evidentially Jenny had found time to peruse their rubbish bin during her visitation. "Ah. I... I can provide an explanation for..."

Abbie closed her eyes and sighed heavily. "You don't have to explain," she said carefully. "It's just... she said you sat in the living room for three hours staring at the clock, then wanted to argue with her when she pointed out that the lapse in time you had was because you dozed off." She walked over to him, took the dirty clothes from his hands, and set them on top of the washer. She grasped his hands and looked up at him. "I just don't want a repeat of the last time you decided it might be a good idea to not take your meds."

While he _had _in fact sat stared at the clock for three hours, shortly after Miss Jenny had arrived to check on him, he was still not entirely convinced those 23 missing minutes were indicative that he had dozed off. Even if he had been fighting to keep his eyes open prior to the lapse and had felt somewhat rejuvenated after it, Jenny's theory was inconclusive. For all he knew, it was just another trick to convince him this place was real.__

__"Hey, I need you to focus right now," Abbie said, squeezing his hands lightly. Ichabod shook his head to clear it and looked down at her. "If you feel you're ready to come off the meds, we can try it. _But_ the _first time_ you start mentioning demons like they're actually real... you're going back on them."_ _

__"I shall not argue with you on that matter," Ichabod replied._ _

__Abbie looked down at his hands when they twitched in hers. "You didn't let me finish... I have a condition to this 'no meds' thing. _Because_ your therapist did say we had stop giving in to your every little whim... If you can meet this condition, we can test out a non-medicated Ichabod Crane."_ _

__"Whatever it is, you shall have it," Ichabod said promptly. Then instantly regretted it the moment Abbie gave him a big, bright smile._ _

__"I was hoping you would say that," she chimed, returning to the island and started digging through her purse. When she turned back to face him, she had a candy car in her hand. "Eat this."_ _

__Ichabod blinked at her in confusion. "I... I do not understand."_ _

__"That's the condition," Abbie said. She held it out to him. "You have to eat this candy bar. And you can't say you don't want it or you don't like it because, for starters, I made sure to get your favourite. Second, I know you haven't eaten anything today even though I went through the trouble of making your favourite breakfast this morning. Its your choice, meds or candy?"_ _

__Ichabod opened his mouth to object to being forced between two things he did not want. "I... do not want the candy bar," he finally managed to get out._ _

__"Okay," Abbie said with a nod. "Then take your meds."_ _

__"Nor do I wish to take the medication," Ichabod said._ _

__"That's not how this game is played, Ichabod Crane," Abbie replied. "It's one or the other. Which one is it? Either way you're putting something in your mouth and swallowing it."_ _

__"Why?"_ _

__"To prove to me you're not being delusional," Abbie said. "Prove to me you are capable of making a sound and rational decision."_ _

__"It seems we are at an impasse," Ichabod huffed._ _

__"An impasse implies that there is no rational solution," Abbie pointed out. "I'm being very rational right now. I'm giving you two rational options. You're the one being stubborn."_ _

__Ichabod drew in a deep breath. Ordinarily he could easily talk his way out of any corner he managed to wedge himself into. But normally he wasn't up going head to head with Grace Abigail Mills. _Crane_ , he reminded himself. He knew he could just pick one and walk off. But if this Abbie was anything like the one from his reality, she would stand firm until he either took the medicine or ate the sweet._ _

__If the look on her face was any indication, she was just as steadfast as his Abbie. There would be no talking his way out of this. He couldn't even run away to another room to avoid the choice. Abbie was blocking the only exit with her petite, albeit imposing, form._ _

__"Ichabod," Abbie said carefully. "I promise you, nothing bad will happen if pick one or the other."_ _

__"How can you be certain?" Ichabod asked._ _

__"Because you've eaten hundreds of these since we met." Abbie replied. "That and you know the only other option is Tarrytown. And you and I both know I don't want to have to do that. And trust me, it'll be worse there."_ _

__She wasn't saying it as a threat. No, this Abbie honestly seemed as though she did not want it to come to the final option. "Because of your mother, yes, I know," Ichabod said quietly._ _

__Abbie blinked at him then shook her head and laughed bitterly. "You can't remember our children but you can remember my mother killed herself in Tarrytown Psych? Do you have any idea how messed up that is?"_ _

__" _Or_ , perhaps I am starting to recall people and events of importance," Ichabod suggested, despite knowing that was not the case._ _

__A smile ghosted Abbie's lips. She stepped forward and pushed the candy bar into his hands. "Eat. I promise everything will be okay. Besides we can't have you passing out because you think you'll get trapped in Purgatory. I'm just glad, last time it happened, you didn't have the kids in the car with you."_ _

__Confound it all, why did it have to be Abbie? Why couldn't it be someone he would gladly ignore without an inkling of guilt? Why the one person he trusted explicitly? Why the one person that could make him doubt whether he truly was in a convoluted reality where he was not, in fact, a witness to the Apocalypse?_ _

__"Perhaps I have simply gone mad," Ichabod said quietly._ _

__Abbie rubbed his arms and lovingly looked up at him. "It's not your fault, babe. Maybe you had a bad dream about what happened and you just shut down and blocked everything out. Maybe you saw something that triggered you and your response was to block everything. I not even going to pretend to know what goes on in that handsome head of yours on a bad day. Try not to let it get you down."_ _

__"Since I am unable to recall... what _did_ happen?" Ichabod asked. "What event has caused this... ailment of my mind?"_ _

__Abbie was about to respond when the alarm on Ichabod's phone started beeping. She reached into his trouser pocket, which startled Ichabod at first, and pulled out his phone. "How about we _both_ go pick up the kids. We can talk on the way and while we wait for school to let out." her eyes fell to the candy in his hand. "And you can eat that."_ _

__Ichabod sighed in defeat._ _

__Together they located his socks in a box in the bedroom closet--why he had moved them there was beyond either of them but they put them back where they actually belonged in the chest of drawers--and Ichabod found his shoes in the living room, tidily tucked away in an unused cabinet on a side table. Again, this new reality seemed bent on taking him out of his comfort zone and had dealt him _loafers_ which provided not even the slightest amount of support and made it feel like they would fly off into the great yonder if he walked too fast._ _

__And once they were in the car--because he actually was incredibly hungry and he honestly couldn't see a reason to distrust someone who clearly cared for and loved him--he took a leap of faith and ate the candy bar._ _


	4. Chapter 4

_"Are you sure you're pronouncing it right? Maybe we should try it again and--" Abbie said, she stopped when Jenny glared at her._

_"My pronunciation is perfect," Jenny groused. "I am still saying we should try the easiest solution. You should just kiss him and see if it works."_

_Abbie looked down at Ichabod, who hadn't done anything more than breathe since getting hit with the attack. "You really think I'm his true love?" she scoffed. "You know, since finding out the truth about being a Witness and all that, I had stopped thinking you were delusional."_

_"What's the worst that could happen, Abbie?" Jenny sighed. "If it doesn't work he'll just keep sleeping." Jenny arched an eyebrow. "Or are you worried he'll wake up if you kiss him?"_

_Abbie punched down the part of her that panicked at the thought of Crane waking up to her kiss. She punched it down as hard as she could. She punched it down until it shut up. Taking a deep breath, Abbie looked at Jenny. "What's the next spell?"_

_Jenny scowled and looked down at the list. "Okay... fine, let's not go with the easy solution and keep trying spells."_

  
##  


He was trying to remember/imagine the life Abbie was telling him. To be fairly honest, it sounded like a lovely life. It was everything he could have possibly imagined to have happened if he could have been born into her time. With each little detail she gave him, he could see it in his head, appearing like a real memory from a past that had really happened.

They met in college. Himself, Abraham, and Katrina--all childhood friends with parents of fair notability in England--had decided to venture to America for university. Ichabod and 'Brom' had been room mates at an apartment complex close to the campus well before attending. Katrina had intended to share a room in the same apartment with another friend, Mary Wells, but Mary had backed out at the last moment. This had caused Katrina's parents to forbid her to share a"flat" with her two male friends and ended with Katrina being placed with Abbie as a room mate on campus.

Despite the fact Katrina and Abbie being room mates, they kept to their separate circles. Although it was more like Katrina stayed around him and Brom and Abbie kept herself tucked away in a corner, except for when she was working at the campus book store. 

"You came in every day for months, got the same thing," Abbie said. "Gummie Bears and a Sprite; and there _may_ have been some flirting. Finally one day when I came in from the book store, Katrina had gotten tired of your pining and asked me if I had _by chance taken notice_ of her _dear friend_ that came in every afternoon when I worked. I mean I had seen both you and Brom tons of times in the book store so I asked her 'the fit, hunky one or the skinny, twitchy one with long hair'?"

Ichabod was about to argue that he was _not_ twitchy, but his hands would have made a liar of him, so he kept silent and curled his fingers against his trouser leg. "I take it I was not the one you identified as the 'fit and hunky one'?"

"What can I say?" Abbie asked affectionately. "I thought, and still think, its cute when you get do the little twitchy hands thing when you get nervous or excited. It gives you away every time." She took one hand off the steering wheel to entwine her fingers with his. "Anyway, she said you were shy and was trying to get up the nerve to ask me for a date but you were _uncertain as to how to approach an American woman_. So, I told her all you had to do was ask."

"So I immediately asked..." Ichabod boasted. 

Abbie chuckled and shook her head. "No. I had to put up with you awkwardly walking up to me then turning and walking off again... for two months. I pretended not to notice. And then at the beginning of our second year, we just happened to have the same literature class. The professor did one of those 'here's a project to do as a group' things and had everyone pair up. I think you knocked over almost an entire row of desks to get across the room and ask me for the honour of being my partner during the _group endeavour_." Abbie smiled wistfully. "We actually had a few classes together that semester..."

"Considering everything thus far has not been going in the manner I feel it should, I take it that you and I did not pair together for the project?" Ichabod asked.

"I just couldn't say no to a guy that nearly broke his neck trying to ask me to be his partner," Abbie replied. "Actually, since you and I had a few classes together, we ended up studying together a lot. Not that my boyfriend at the time liked it too much but... he wasn't my boyfriend much longer anyway. Mostly because _somebody_ , I have no idea who--" she squeezed his hand "--started leaving a flower taped to my door for me to find every morning with a little, anonymous, love note attached thinking I wouldn't recognize his damn handwriting."

Ichabod frowned when he realized he could remember doing everything Abbie had said. He remembered the first time she smiled at him in the book store and feeling as though his entire existence had been altered. There were memories of flirtations as he opted to purchase his daily snack in the book store, despite it being more expensive, just for the chance to speak to her. He could remember watching her sit alone, under one of the cherry trees that populated the campus, studying--and Katrina pointing out that Abbie was her room mate.

How could he recall events that had never taken place? How could he remember leaving his apartment an hour early every day just to leave the note and flower she had spoken of? He could recall each bloom--each one a different type of flower and colour--and the note he had left with it. Then there was the moment Abbie had "accidentally" dropped a collection of his love notes on top of the notebook he had been using to keep track of their references for the joint project.

_His heart skipped a beat the moment the note cards fell out of her backpack, while trying to remove a textbook, and scattered atop his notebook. He held his breath and hoped she would not see the similarities in the handwriting._

_"Well, shoot," she said with a heavy sigh. "I thought I took those out..." Her lips pulled into a flirtatious smirk as she picked up the cards then lightly fanned herself with them. The wicked gleam in her eyes said she knew... dear god she knew it was him that had been leaving the tokens of affection. She had known for a while, he could tell, and now she was telling him that the proverbial ball was in his court._

_Of course Abraham chose the very moment Ichabod had finally decided to say something, to burst into the apartment, and interrupt what would have been the perfect moment to ask her. Brom, already moderately intoxicated, began insisting everyone needed a break from their studies to join him at the bar for drinks and karaoke._

Ichabod rubbed his eyes with his free hand. No, that couldn't be right. Those things had never happened. But at the same time, they felt like _his_ memories. They did not feel false. "You mean to tell me, you were already involved in a relationship when you told Katrina I needed only to ask you for a _date_?" Ichabod asked.

"Actually, boyfriend is too strong of a word for what me and Andy were," Abbie hummed. "It was more of a friends with beneficial advantages like... being able to attend family dinners with the Corbin's without being asked when I was going to get a boyfriend. I drew the line at him having jealous hissy fits because the sexy British guy with big blue eyes knew how to romance a _lady_ , even if you were trying to do it without letting on it was you. That and you always referred to me as a lady or a woman instead of a girl. I really liked that."

"There was a night... I finally got the nerve to ask you. But Abraham interrupted it," Ichabod said slowly, not sure if he could trust the recollections that were still moderately hazy in his head. "Abraham and I... enlisted in the military. No... that cannot be right because they would never allow someone who was clearly intoxicated to enlist..."

"Yeah, they made you guys come back when you were sober," Abbie said with a chuckle. "Mostly because you had left all your resident alien documentation at the apartment."

"So we... went to the apartment to fetch it," Ichabod said. "But, Katrina fell asleep and she was the only sober one in the group at the time. And... you had an early class and could not stay the night so I walked you to your dormitory."

"I refused to let you walk back home alone," Abbie added. "So you stayed with me. And, instead of asking me out on a date, you asked me to marry you... to which, like the army, I said you had to be sober to make that kind of commitment."

Ichabod felt himself smile. It was rather surreal remembering, after pulling the mattress from Katrina's bed and putting it on the floor next to Abbie's bed, the two of them rambling on at great length until they fell asleep. He also remembered, despite their falling asleep in separate arrangements, he somehow awoke with Abbie pressed to his side using his arm as a pillow.

He stared out of the window. Everything was still bright and beautiful. Surely if this was a strange form of Purgatory it would have revealed itself after he had consumed something. And the memories... they still felt authentic. "I... just cannot fathom that everything is real," he murmured. "I can recall events that have taken place. Such as, when I first saw you smile... I remember thinking 'I will fall in love this woman very soon.' Yet, this is not a musing unfamiliar to the events I currently accept as being real. It almost seems the fabrication is trying to make itself coincide with reality whilst..." his head started to hurt so he let the thought drift away while he rubbed his temple with his free hand.

"If it helps," Abbie said. "You can do like your therapist said and think about what you're remembering and slowly take away the things you know aren't real--like the monsters--until you're left with what is real."

"That is altogether a very acceptable and logical means of deducting what is real, Lieutenant," Ichabod said. Abbie looked at him, a small smirk on her lips as she arched an eyebrow. "The conflict resides in that, to me, the monsters are very real. Until the moment I awoke during the night-time, you and I were actively fighting them and... Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's been a _long_ time since you've called me Lieutenant," Abbie said. "I had almost forgot how sexy it was."

He was about to ask in what manner could calling her by her rank be 'sexy' when his mind brought forth a rather explicit image that involved her wearing only her unbuttoned Westchester County Police Department uniform shirt, to answer the question. Ichabod gapped, trying to still ask, despite not needing to.

"You okay there, babe?" Abbie asked.

Ichabod shook his head to clear it then shook it again. The imagery seemed to not want to fade away. Abbie lightly pinched the back of his hand and the images finally went away. "Fine. I am... fine," he replied. He swallowed hard.

"I was worried you were about to have an episode for a second there," Abbie said. "Did you remember something that made you panic?"

"I do not think panic is the correct term," Ichabod murmured. He felt his face warm and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

Abbie grinned, both hands back on the wheel. "Oh. You must have been thinking about a few of the private times you would call me 'lieutenant.'" When he looked toward her, she laughed. "What? We've been together for ten years, Ichabod, I've learned a thing or two about your mannerisms. And when you get that 'Holy shit stop thinking right now' look, it's one of two things. It's either something that terrifies you or arouses you." She frowned. "Or it's that rare moment where it's both..."

'Both' adequately covered it. While this Abbie was both familiar and expected him to have such thoughts about her, the Abbie he lo--knew--would probably not welcome his having such thoughts about her... even if they were disguised as memories.

Speaking of which...

His eyes fell to the empty candy wrapper he had tucked into the cup holder. He was beginning to wonder, precisely what sort of realm he was in. He had already deduced it was _not_ Purgatory. A dream, perhaps? A dream where pain did not cause him to awaken... a dream where everything felt real and normal and he was simply questioning everything.

A lucid dream then?

No... he had already tried to direct the dream but he had been unable to take control of anything. Everything had just done as it seemingly wanted to. What kind of dream didn't behave as a dream?

_One grounded in reality_.

Ichabod blinked at the thought. Was it within the realm of possibility that _this_ was reality and everything he felt was real was the dream? "Tell me, Abbie," he said. "What made you fall in love with me?"

He focused on something specific and non-romantic. _His ability quote the founding fathers at a moment's notice_. His Abbie found the ability amusing at best. She was more apt to roll her eyes than swoon during a situation that warranted his quoting them. If _this_ Abbie had fallen in love with that ability, then it was certainly a dream.

"I don't think it was a specific thing," Abbie replied. "I mean, if I _had_ to pick a certain thing that made me fall in love with you... I'd have to say it was how you would stroke my hair while we laid in bed together. And how you would panic when your fingers caught a tangle. You're always worried I'm going to get hurt..." Her smile faded and she reached down and took his hand again. "But that's just who you are. I could bust up in a place in full swat gear and you, unarmed and in civilian clothing, would still try to protect me."

Ichabod felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach. Why did it feel like she wasn't just using that as an example? Why did it feel like it was something that had actually happened? It felt like there was something he was wanting to remember but was pushing it as far away as possible. "That... that is what I cannot remember," he murmured. "When did it happen? _What_ happened?"

Abbie kept her focus straight ahead on the road, her face void of emotion. "You and Brom joined the military by the way," she said flatly. "You and I got married just before your first deployment. You went to Afghanistan twice... _twice_ and came home fine." She scoffed slightly. "And you got me pregnant right before each time you left... You and Brom both _retired_ from the military with honours. You both were ecstatic you got jobs at our alma mater, I was up for a promotion at the FBI... everything was _perfect_. You were 'finally home where it's safe'... We could watch the kids grow up without a worry in the world."

"I am sensing a 'however,'" Ichabod stated.

"However, a couple of home-growns thought they would make an example out of the quote 'dirty foreigners' that were coming to take over America and took you, Brom, Katrina, and a few of the other professors and students hostage that had ties to government agencies," Abbie said quietly. "They streamed the entire thing online... it was terrible. You, Brom, and some of the others tried to overpower them. Y'all managed to get a few of the hostages free the first time you tried to do it. The second time you tried to over-power them, they ended up killing Katrina... and Brom just lost all will to fight afterwards. And this whole time, my boss wouldn't let me help because I was 'personally involved,' even though I knew the munition tunnels like the back of my hand because of you."

Ichabod tried to remember what Abbie was telling him. Yes, he could "recall" their wedding with perfect clarity. He could even remember asking her to marry him if he thought hard enough. The joy of her tearful "yes" when he asked was easily accessible, as was the feeling of tears stinging his own eyes when they said "I do." 

He could remember acting as Abraham's best man when he and Katrina wed, just weeks after they returned from their first deployment. He remembered holding Emma in his arms for the first time, the overwhelming feeling of love for the tiny person he and Abbie had brought into the world. 

Running across deserts from showers to tents, watching Emma's first steps, sending massive bouquets of flowers to Abbie at work on her birthday, the sound of the radio blaring music while marching through streets next to massive military vehicles, holding Jeremiah for the first time, interviewing with the university, being welcomed to the staff, the dinner party they held to celebrate his and Brom both gaining employment at the university... all of those things he could remember without issue.

However, when he tried to recall the events that supposedly had caused him to temporarily forget everything, all he could access was _feelings_. Adrenaline, fear, panic, muscles tensing, sadness... but all he could see was a hazy cloud in his head. 

Everything else was in perfect crystal clarity, leaving no doubt that he _must have_ actually lived it.

"How did the situation end?" Ichabod asked.

Abbie smiled at him gently. "You and two others survived. One of the survivors killed themselves a year later. The other survivor was your assistant... she hasn't left her house except once since it happened," she replied. "As for how the actual ordeal ended... like I said, I knew the munition tunnels like the back of my hand. Took matters into my own hands. I took a lot of crap at work for it, but since it was _obvious_ I was _more concerned_ with ending the situation than letting my, quote, _emotional attachments_ influence my decisions... they let me off lightly. Not to mention I think they were a little scared of the fall out that would happen if they did do anything considering the media was singing my praises."

She squeezed his hand.

"You getting back your actual memories again?" Abbie asked.

"I... believe so, Lieu--" Ichabod paused and drew in a deep breath. " _Abbie_." It felt strange to say her name but at the same time, he welcomed the feeling of warm familiarity saying her name brought. Abbie grinned and stroked the back of his hand idly as she pulled in at the school and manoeuvred into the queue that had already formed in the "pick up" lane. "If this is, indeed the reality, where did I come up with the life consisting of demons and the Apocalypse?"

Abbie looked at him as she put the car in park, let down the windows, and then turned off the ignition. "Really? You really have to ask that question?" She chuckled softly. "Maybe you should take a look at the bookshelf when we get back home." She wrapped her arms around the arm closest to her and rested her cheek on his sleeve. She sighed and looked up at him with a smile. "I love you, Ichabod."

'Elated' did not even begin to adequately describe how hearing those words coming from Abbie's lips made him feel. Yes he could remember hearing her say them many times but, as far as he was concerned, this was the first time. "Abbie..." Ichabod said, disbelief in his voice. He could feel the words dancing on the tip of his tongue, ready to burst forth and have her hear them for once. "I... I..."

"Are you..." Abbie interrupted. "Yes, you are. Dammit Ichabod, what did I tell you about crying?" She sat up straight and dabbed at her eyes. "Just be glad Jeremiah isn't here right now."

Ichabod quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "My apologies..." he murmured. "It must be trying to be wed to someone such as myself..."

"I wouldn't trade you for anything, babe," Abbie said. "I love you just the way you are. I love the man you were. I love the man you are now. And I will love the man you will be tomorrow." She took his face in her small hands, making him look her in the eyes. "I don't care if you turn into a sobbing mess every time I say it, I love you. You're my partner. You're my friend. And I love you. Got it?"

Ichabod nodded mutely. _Seven times_ she had said it seven times in less than a minute. And he hadn't been able to say it yet. He was attempting to say it when Abbie kissed him. This time he couldn't force himself to keep it chaste. He returned her kiss with love-fuelled desperation. Abbie responded with a soft sound and by matching his enthusiasm. It was everything he had imagined kissing Abbie would be--from the softness of her lips to the way they moulded against each other, her fingers in his hair, his arms wound tightly around her.

"Oh my gawd, _Mum_... _Dad_ You're in _public_."

Ichabod and Abbie moved away from each other abruptly at the sound of Emma's voice at the window. Both of the children were standing there, hand-in-hand. Other children were bustling about, hurrying to their prospective rides. "What have I said, Emma, the car is not public," Abbie reminded. She cranked the car. "Get in."

Emma opened the back door and let Jeremiah scramble into the seat before getting in herself. Jeremiah poked his head between the front seats and looked up at Ichabod. Ichabod gave the boy a smile. "Did you almost forget?" Jeremiah asked quietly. "Is that why mummy came along?"

"I did not forget," Ichabod replied, affectionately poking the tip of Jeremiah's nose. "Your mother returned from work early and we decided to jointly retrieve you and Miss Emma from school."

Jeremiah flopped back into his seat and bounced excitedly as he pulled his seatbelt on. "I told you he wouldn't forget," he said, then stuck his tongue out at Emma.

Ichabod turned in his seat enough to see Emma. "I shall endeavour to restore your faith in me as a father, Emma."

Emma shook her head and jutted her nose into the air stubbornly as she buckled up. "No..." she huffed. "It's too late. You shan't ever do such a thing." A small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth, letting him know she was mostly joking, then she looked out the window. 

Ichabod closed his eyes as Abbie drove along, the children chattering in the back. After a moment, he felt Abbie's hand slide into his and their fingers entwined. Everything he had once thought to be real was slowly receding to the back of his mind as just being a strange tale he had concocted.

_This_ felt real. _This_ was something tangible and believable.

_This_ was the life the man from his tale had wanted. So why was he clinging so tightly to something that he knew, in essence, was not real? Why would he actively _want_ to be in a life where he felt helplessly in love with Abbie without knowing if she felt the same as he did?

_An allegory for how he had struggled with admitting his feelings for her in the beginning_ , he reasoned. He started picking apart each memory and compared it to what he thought had been his life. Each one had a tale that, when one took the monsters into consideration, could parallel his life in a more fantastical way.

Fantasy. Yes... that's what it was. 

That was the most logical explanation.

It was all a fantasy.


	5. Chapter 5

_Abbie drew in a deep breath. It was now or never. Besides, she didn't know the next time Jenny would be out of the hospital room for an extended period. In fact, she didn't know when Jenny would be back. One could never be too sure when fetching a cup of ice in a hospital._

_She puffed out the breath she was holding and looked down at Ichabod. Him unconscious in a medical bed, just outside of being in a coma, was not what came to mind when she had thought about their first kiss. Not that... she had thought about it a lot._

_Besides, what if, instead of waking him up it pulled her into whatever spell he was under. That was a remote possibility. There were two in which a kiss would suck her right in. And then where would they be with both her and him unconscious?_

_Actually, Abbie had no doubt Jenny would think of something._

_She took another deep breath. “Here goes something,” she sighed. She eased onto her tiptoes and leaned over Ichabod's sleeping form. She pressed her lips to his._

_She pulled back when he made a barely noticable sound. Her heart leapt into her chest. Had it worked? Was he waking up? No, he remained asleep._

_Abbie made to move away from the bedside. Her head began to spin. Something definitely didn't feel right... The door to the room opened when she staggered as though drunk. Jenny dropped the cup of ice in her hand and leapt forward to catch Abbie as she collapsed._

_“Kiss didn't work,” Abbie managed to get out, just before falling unconscious._

  
##  


Ichabod perused the book shelf. It had to be somewhere. He wasn't precisely certain what he was looking for but he just _knew_ he would know it when he saw it. Abbie had said to check the book shelf, so he was checking the book shelf. He had no doubt that when he came across it, he would remember something in relation to it.

Unfortunately they seemed to have several book shelves, all packed to capacity with various tomes, in various sizes, in various condition, and in various state of antiquity. Although, there was a distinct pattern, much like one would find in a library. They were organized, obviously, first by subject, then by title. Older books were kept separate from newer ones. Ichabod had easily found the book case that was over-filled with ancient, dusty tomes that dealt with the supernatural. While the titles of the book were of utmost interest to him and he could remember when he had located each specific tome, none of them struck him as being the answer he was seeking.

"If you're looking for one of your books by the founding fathers, they're at The Archives."

Ichabod turned to see Emma looming in a doorway. _The Archives_. He blinked at her. "The Archives are safe and sound, I take it?" he asked.

Emma nodded. "Mum filed to have it preserved during your first deployment," she replied primly. "Mum says its where you and her would sneak off to whilst you were in school so you could study in peace and quiet."

"Aside from the historical value of course," Ichabod said with a small smirk. Whether this were actually reality or a dream, it was not appropriate to correct the child in what her parents actually used the Archives for during their time at university. Although they did use it for the reason Emma stated, it had most commonly been used as a amorous retreat for them. "Unfortunately, my dear Emma, I fear I am not seeking a tome by the founders of this great nation... I seek something grounded in the supernatural, to explain why I think my life is intended to be a witness to the Apocalypse at your mother's side and we are to fight off monsters that threaten mankind."

His daughter smiled brightly. _His daughter_. _His and Abbie's daughter_. The thought still filled his heart with joy. She bit her bottom lip and looked around cautiously. "Normally Mum says to let you find it on your own but... I know what you're looking for. I could help you find it." Emma's smile turned mischievous.

Ichabod narrowed his eyes at her. "And what is the fee for your services?"

"I want a sword. A real one. I promise to take care of it. And to not misuse it," Emma vowed, her head held high.

He strode over to the girl and knelt down to her level. "I take it there is a specific one you had in mind?"

Emma hummed softly and met his eyes. "Auntie Jenny lets me watch Walking Dead when she babysits," she said quickly and in a low voice. "I want a replica of Michonne's sword. I've done research. I found one online for $139. Battle ready."

"That is hardly an appropriate item for someone so young," Ichabod pointed out. “What on earth would you need a _battle ready_ sword for?”

“It's a dangerous world out there, Dad, a girl needs to be adequately prepared,” she responded in all seriousness. “If one doesn't have a sword capable of decapitating zombies... she is not adequately prepared. And it's a perfect means for me to learn responsibility and to show that I am mentally and emotionally prepared for advancing to having a kitten," Emma said.

"While your arguments are justifiably sound, getting you a dangerous weapon seems the opposite of what an adult should do when the ultimate goal is a kitten," Ichabod pointed out. "Perhaps we could simply get the kitten?"

Emma narrowed her eyes for a moment then held out her hand. "Deal," she said. "I expect to be taken to every animal shelter and adoption centre tomorrow, since it's Saturday. But we have to be back in time for Doctor Who."

Ichabod took Emma's hand and shook it. "And this accord is sealed."

Emma instantly moved across the room to a shelf and plucked two newer books off of it. She walked them over to him and held the books out in offering. "SPCA of Westchester County opens at 10AM. Petsmart and Petco open at 9AM. The animal shelter opens at 7AM. Guess where we're going first and when."

Ichabod nodded. "I shall be up and prepared for our journey in time to greet the shelter at 7AM."

"If I can't find my kitten at any of those places I already have a route map of places outside of Westchester County," Emma added, pulling a sheet of paper out of her back pocket. "I made sure to avoid tolls and even anticipated when we might need to fuel up. And if you look at the itinerary, you'll note I saved New York City as a last resort because I know we'd have to come home and get Mum for that since your PTSD makes you have panic attacks when driving in the City.”

"I look forward to our adventure," Ichabod said, unfolding the paper to reveal a map of various places which might hold the prize they would be seeking. Below the map she had scrawled the phone numbers of each of the places. "You will make an excellent strategist some day."

Emma beamed happily. " _Mum_!" she called, scampering to the kitchen. "Daddy said I could get a kitten."

Ichabod stood to his full height and looked down at the books in his hand. Two hard bound novels with illustrated sleeves. _Legend of Sleepy Hollow_ the gold lettering proclaimed. Just below that, in smaller letters was his own name. He sank down onto the sofa, staring at the books in disbelief.

Even from the brief summary provided, he could see the tale was basis of what he had thought to be his reality. The names were different, admittedly, but the main characters were no doubt inspired by himself and Abbie. He opened the book and flipped through the pages. It was hard to believe, yet, there it was in black and white. His eyes skimmed over the almost flowery prose.

It was all a story.

A story he had quite literally written down and gotten published.

"We had an agreement Ichabod, when Emma brings up a pet, I send her to ask you, you're supposed to say 'ask your mother' and we just keep her running back and forth until she gets annoyed and stops asking," Abbie said as she walked into the room. 

Ichabod looked up at her. "That's quite a rude thing to do," he commented dully. "I see no reason why she should not be allowed to have a pet."

Abbie grinned. "Hey, she gives us hell all the time because she inherited _somebody's_ know-it-all attitude. Besides, she rarely brings up getting a kitten or a puppy... or a python." Her eyes fell to the books. "Ah, she bribed you into letting her get a kitten."

"It was either a kitten or a sword," Ichabod pointed out. "I was of the opinion that a kitten was considerably less dangerous."

“Damn, that girl is getting good.” Abbie walked over and sat down beside him on the sofa. "Are you okay?" she asked, rubbing his leg. 

Ichabod looked down at the books. Despite all his efforts to prove that this realm he was in was false, all the proof and all the facts said otherwise. And now he literally held in his hands evidence that the place he believed to be real was simply a story he had concocted. "I feel betrayed by my own mind."

Abbie tucked his hair behind his ear. "Hey, don't let it get you down," she said gently. "Like your therapist said... the human mind is a complicated place. We barely scratched the surface of what we know about it. When you add in stress and trauma... it takes a very complicated thing and makes it even more complicated. You've been creative for as long as I've known you. Sometimes, when you have an episode, you confuse what's real with what you've created in your head. Most of the time it passes quickly. You only _almost_ got violent once in the past three years, and that was with your old therapist, because you were convinced he was trying to kill us."

Ichabod rubbed his eyes. Abbie took the books from him and set them on the end table. He had no words to describe the way he was feeling. Hopeless wasn't even close to being the proper vernacular. How, precisely, did one explain a moment in which everything they thought to be real was proven false? What words conveyed feeling like they had forgotten everything about themselves except for tiny bursts of moments which they were torn between thinking they were not real and wishing they were?

And _if_ this was all real... what happened to make him think otherwise? 

"Ichabod," Abbie said softly, close to his ear. "It wasn't your fault. You were restrained after the second attempt. You couldn't save them. But you _tried_." Her voice broke. "You tried _so hard_ to protect everyone. To save _them_. And there are... 23 people that are alive today because of you and Brom."

He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. In perfect clarity he could visualize looking down a line of people. Seven—himself and six others. All of them, including himself, were on their knees, hands bound behind their backs. He recognized Abraham easily, looking forlorn and hopeless at the other end of the line. The feel of cold metal--the barrel of gun--on the back of his neck made him tremble but he clenched his jaw to try and keep from letting it show. 

_"And just because you felt like you needed to be a hero. You get to die last," a cruel voice said just at his ear. "You get to watch all your friends go. And there ain't nothing you can do about it." It hadn't been what he had anticipated when he took blame for convincing Brom and the others to rebel._

"Hey, hey..." Abbie voice called out, trying to get his attention but it was her hand on the back of his neck and her forehead pressed to his that brought his mind out of the fog. "Let's try to stay out of the dark place. Focus on your happy place. Do you remember where that is?"

_"You never explained why you are so fixated with gummie bears," Abbie said from behind the counter. "I mean I swear you come in and buy a dozen packs a day. Wouldn't it be cheaper just to walk down the street and get a five pound canister every couple of days? Or maybe order in bulk from Costco?"_

_Ichabod felt his face warm. He had hoped, perhaps she did not notice his visiting her multiple times a day or his purchases. What he didn't want to say was that he bought gummie bears because they were the least expensive treat in the campus book store. Usually it was Katrina that ate the gummie bears. He also didn't want to say it was the lovely maiden currently giving him big Disney princess eyes that made him visit several times a day, after lunch, each day of the week, with the exception of Wednesday and Friday when she had theatre studies at 1pm--which he knew because she had_ told _him,_ not _because Abraham had abused his privileges as an office aid to have a peak at her class schedule (which he had not looked at, thank you very much, because that would be venturing into the area of stalking)._

_He very much wanted to tell her he thought she was lovely and had a beautiful smile. Someday he would perhaps have the courage to say so. But today was not that day. "It is the closest thing I can find to jelly babies from back home. Absurd mockery of them but, a reasonable replacement I suppose."_

_"Love your accent, by the way," Abbie said. "$4.27, as always."_

_Ichabod handed over the exact change, smiling faintly when the tips of his fingers brushed her palm. When he looked back to her face, she had her bottom lip caught between her teeth, giving him those eyes again. He almost garnered the courage in that moment but another patron shuffled into line and he muttered a quick “thank you” and hurried out to his two awaiting friends who had been grinning like idiots as they watched the interaction from outside the door._

_Roughly two weeks later, he was in the same line with his same purchases. She was there, of course. Her eyes lit up when she noticed him in the line. When it was finally his turn, she grinned wickedly with knowledge of a secret._

_“My roommate just happens to be from London,” Abbie said. “And I got her to do me a big favor...”_

_“Oh?” he squeaked then cleared his throat. “Oh... You mean Miss Van Tassel, of course.” Abbie nodded and reached under the counter. “Which, by the way, why didn't you tell me she was your friend? We could invite you and Brom to the room for movie nights or whatever...”_

_She placed a sizeable container full of jelly babies atop the counter. He was struck speechless. First because she had done something so kind and generous. Second because, to be honest, he abhorred jelly babies. “I gave her the money to buy a few bulk bags of jelly babies since you said you liked them and had them shipped over.”_

_“Miss... Mills... you are... entirely too kind,” he stammered. He looked out of the store door and saw Katrina and Brom sitting at a table, watching what was going on. Katrina beamed happily, waved, and gave him two thumbs up. He looked back to Abbie. She was giving him the big, sweet eyes and smile he just... adored. The question had almost made it to the tip of his tongue when..._

_“Are you going to buy something or just stand there like an idiot all day?”_

_Abbie's smile disappeared and she glared at the person in line behind Ichabod. Ichabod quickly gathered the canister and placed $4.27 on the counter. “Thank you, Abbie, for your... kindness.” He then hurried out as quickly as possible, past Katrina and Brom, out of the student centre, and didn't stop until he had absolutely no idea where he was._

Ichabod felt the warmth of Abbie's lips on his cheek. “You okay?” she asked again. He nodded. “Hate to do this but... we promised Jeremiah we'd take him to the Palisades tonight. And Emma wanted to go to the book store. I figured Jeremiah and I could do ice skating while you and Emma terrorize Barnes & Noble.”

“That sounds... perfect.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie awakens in the dream world. Emma continues to be a smartass. Jeremiah is just a precious angel. ichabod is still just completely smitten by Abbie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realized the original chapter I was writing had sprawled into 13 freakin' pages but saw there was a perfectly good break which would allow me to keep it around the same length as the others. So next update may be a bit quicker since it's pretty much the second half of this chapter.

Abbie walked cautiously through the house, gun in hand, in her pjs. Or rather, she assumed they were her pjs, she didn't recall owning a white satiny boy shorts and cami top set. But at least her gun and FBI badge had been in the drawer closest to the bedroom door. That was the same.

All she knew was that she had felt a brief, warm pressure at the corner of her mouth at some point which had made her stir in her sleep. After what she could only assume was a couple of hours, she had awakened and felt something was incredibly off kilter about her house. Last she remembered, she had been in a hospital room and had kissed a very unconscious Crane. Next she was waking up in her house.

A very weird version of her house. Or at least it felt weird. Everything essentially looked the same. The sun filtered through the windows in a way that didn't defy the laws of nature, there were no shadowed corners that were out of place. There was just a distinct feeling that something wasn't... right. Not necessarily wrong, just _not right_.

She reached the door to Crane's room first and knocked lightly. “Crane? You in there? Everything all right?” she called. When she received no response, she pushed the door open and kept her gun ready as she stepped in.

She paused when she realized it was definitely _not_ Crane's room. It was very much a girl's room. Or at least it put off the air of being a girl's room. There was a multitude of Slytherin themed items strung around the room. There were also home-made poster collages of women with halos of natural hair at various lengths and words like 'beauty,' 'grace,' and 'inspiration' flanking the pictures on the collage and dotted with sparkling stickers. One collage with the heading 'My Queens' featured several actresses that Abbie was not inclined to disagree with, mostly from science fiction and supernatural themed shows and movies along with activists. The window Crane would often stare out of pensively had been converted into a reading nook, with stacks of books and pillows on the seat along with a diagram for a 'build your own solar system' set.

Feeling more than just a little confused, Abbie slowly backed out of the room and shut the door.

Abbie blinked and then reopened the door just to make sure. Yep, still a little girl's room. She closed the door again and eased down the way to the room she used as a home office. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door. She felt tears sting her eyes.

_A little boy's room_... Or perhaps another girl that really liked things typically aimed at boys.

Beginner level books and building blocks littered the floor around a little storage area, like he had attempted to put away his things but either ran out of room or was just in a hurry to do something else. Dolls, both “action figures” and a couple of Barbies, hung out of the storage area bins. The bed was a race car.

Abbie quickly pulled the door closed and leaned against it.

_Kids. Kids. What the ever living hell?_ Were they hers? Something in her heart said yes.

When she descended the stairs, she saw that the dining room had been converted into a pseudo library/office. Books were scattered from one end of the room to the other. The living room was the same, except it definitely had the presence of young children living in it. At least, Abbie didn't recall owning four plastic light sabers or quite so many feather boas and colouring books. The kitchen was even pretty much the same, the exception being that there were crayon drawings and a small poster about ways to assist someone living with PTSD on the refrigerator. Next to the PTSD poster was a dry erase board that said “Today is a _____ day” and someone had drawn a big green smiley face in the blank.

Abbie eased closer to the island when she saw a piece of paper, held down by a salt shaker, fluttering from the air conditioning. She pulled the paper to the edge of the counter and quietly read aloud, “I accidentally woke up Jeremiah by being too loud, so Daddy and I took him with us to pick out a kitten. Love, Emma. PS. Love you! PPS. So does Daddy. PPPS. So does Jeremiah. PPPPS. But I love you more!”

_Emma and Jeremiah_. Abbie nodded gently. She'd had a friend in High School named Emma and had thought it was a pretty name. But 'Jeremiah' seemed too... 'old' to her. Sure she had once upon a time liked the name Jeremy but a certain someone had made sure she didn't like it any more.

Abbie jumped and aimed her gun at a ringing cell phone sitting on the counter, charging. She retrieved it and saw the words 'Tha Mister' illuminated on the screen. Curiosity got the better of her, she slid the answer button across the screen and put the phone to her ear. “Hey... baby?” she said hesitantly, not really sure what she called the person that would be on the other end.

Instead of grown man's voice, a small timid voice responded, “Daddy said I had to ask... Can I have a puppy since Emmy is getting a kit-ten?”

“Did you wake her up?” a girl cried in the background.

“Did I wake you up, Mommy?” he asked, sounding very concerned. If she wasn't mistaken she detected some kind of accent, but his voice was too soft for her to make out what kind.

Tears were definitely stinging her eyes now. He sounded so sweet! Had the girl in the background been Emma? “No baby, you didn't wake me up,” Abbie replied softly, easing herself into a chair at the table. “I was already awake... And yes, you can get a puppy... you and your sister can get whatever you want.”

Before she could ask to speak to whomever 'Daddy' was, Jeremiah soft voice excitedly proclaimed, “I didn't wake her up! She said I could have a puppy!” and hung up. Abbie set her phone down on the table and tried to wrap her head around everything. She closed her eyes and took in several calming breaths.

Right. Okay, she could figure this out.

Two kids. A boy and a girl. Jeremiah and Emma. So far she could tell that Emma was the older of the two. Emma liked Harry Potter and reading. She either liked science fiction or science in general, or just liked space. Maybe all three. If some of the other things in the room were an indicator, she kept her hair natural. Maybe bossy, a bit cunning, but definitely smart. Jeremiah seemed gentle and sweet, even slightly apprehensive. Shyness, maybe?

Her eyes fell to the PTSD poster.

Or maybe... was he the one with PTSD? Or perhaps he'd had to learn from a young age on how to deal with a parent that had it? Abbie couldn't readily think of anyone she knew that was dealing with the affliction. Except maybe Jenny. But there had been no indicators that Jenny was living there so that ruled that out. The dry erase board made Abbie think the person who suffered lived there on a permanent basis.

She was wearing a wedding ring—with a diamond engagement ring that was not at all shabby. Married. Dad was a permanent fixture with the kids. So who would she be willing to marry and have kids with? Abbie made a short list in her head of guys she would be willing to, not only have sex with more than once, but to commit to spending her life with. Then she wondered if her list should include people that were living and/or dead.

_Blissful Dreams_

Abbie took in a sharp breath. She recalled it in perfect clarity now. Yeah she remembered kissing Ichabod in the hospital. But now she remembered passing out. She remembered that it was a curse that trapped a person in a dream about what they desired the most.

Yes! 

That explained her having a traditional nuclear family. It was what she desired. It was her dream. The smart clever daughter who loved to read. A sweet adorable son—God, what did he like? Did he like to read too? Did he like to draw, paint, make art of some kind? Did either of the kids like to sing? She could picture with clarity a sweet, chubby-cheeked boy with big brown eyes and a shy smile.

But still, that begged to question, who was her husband? Who did she _want_ to spend her life with? Who did she _desire_ to have as her husband and father of her children? She was drawing a blank. Actually she wasn't but the person that kept popping to mind, she really didn't see him as being the type to marry _her_ even if she could. Good God, could she see it.

She could see him tenderly holding the children, teaching them to read, encouraging them to soak up enough knowledge to last three lifetimes, to be proud of who they were.

But... he didn't have PTSD. A little neurotic, maybe, but not because of PTSD. Not to mention she hadn't seen the first indicator that _he_ was even around. Not one thing even remotely associated with the American Revolution was around the house, at least not that she had seen. And that just wouldn't happen if it was him.

Was he not even around at all then? No, he had to be around somewhere. She couldn't imagine her having a life without him in it any more.

Abbie got up and started to make a pot of coffee but then thought better of it. Was this like Purgatory where she couldn't eat or drink anything? She put a hand over her stomach as it grumbled. She hoped not because before too long she would definitely want to eat something.

Taking a deep breath, she made the coffee anyway. And she waited to meet her family.

She didn't know exactly how long she had waited. Just that she'd had enough time to take a shower, change clothes—noting the wardrobe choices of her man as she picked out hers—tossed a picture that had fallen on the floor onto the bed, and got back downstairs in time to hear a car pull into the driveway.

It almost felt like she was interviewing for the FBI all over again. She took one final look in the mirror hanging over the fireplace. She had picked out an orange sundress for the day. Would he like it? He better because she sure as hell did. Dream!her had good taste.

She could hold everything together. She just had to choose her words carefully and maybe she could fool everyone into thinking she knew what the hell was going on.

Abbie went to the foot of the stairwell and waited. About a minute later, the door was thrust open and a tallish, lanky girl strode in carrying a black cat... or damn, it was a kitten just a huge kitten. Just as Abbie had thought, her hair was natural—glasses were a surprise while at the same time not. “Presenting... _Sir_ Patrick Stewart McKellen,” the girl said with all the pomp deserving of announcing a king. She held up the kitten and beamed happily.

Abbie grinned brightly. “How did you know I would be waiting here?”

Emma stopped, looked at her, and pursed her lips. “I was going to do it anyway, you being here was just good timing on your part.” She cleared her throat. “And of course... Sir Jeremiah of the house of Crane and his noble steed Biscuit... because Daddy wouldn't let us name her Jammie Dodger.”

Two things caught Abbie by surprise... first “house of Crane” but then her brain seemed to just toss that in the stack of useless knowledge when a Saint Bernard—a full grown Saint Bernard, which was the second thing she noticed—padded through the door with a small boy on it's back. Jeremiah was smiling brightly, obviously delighted, but Abbie gawked and pointed for a moment before finally managing, “That is not a puppy.”

“She's only nine months old, she's still a puppy,” Emma said with pride. “It was a package deal because they had to be adopted together.” Concern went over the girl's face. “Do we have to take them back? Because if we do... they'll get euthanized. Today was their last day.”

“What's euthanized?” Jeremiah asked softly.

“It means they were going to ki--” Emma started but Abbie held up a hand to stop her.

“No... no... you don't have to take them back. It was just a surprise is all,” Abbie said. “And I said whatever you want and you... you got what you wanted.”

“Good because they weren't really on their last day. Sir Patrick is going to get big too,” Emma stated. Unlike her little brother, her accent was very much pronounced. Very obviously a mix of American and British. “He's a Norwegian Forest Cat. Their last owner died so their family threw them into that _dreadful_ place. Their owner really liked large breed animals.”

“They had a horse!” Jeremiah chimed. “It was a... a... cloudsdale. We wanted to get it for you, but, Daddy said we didn't have room for a horse.”

“Did you guys go to the animal shelter or to a farm?” Abbie asked.

“They only had a picture of the Clydesdale,” Emma provided.

“And where is Daddy?” Abbie asked. 

“I was getting various items of necessity from the car.”

Although her brain had finally decided to revisit the whole 'house of Crane' thing—not to mention both of the children's accents and Emma having blue eyes—Abbie was still taken aback at seeing Ichabod walking in the door, arms laden with reusable bags and bags of food for the new pets. He paused briefly when his eyes fell on her. He looked down right awestruck as he used his foot to close the entry door.

“You are... absolutely stunning as always my dearest Abigail,” he finally said.

“Why don't you two take this stuff to the kitchen and feed your new pets?” Abbie suggested.

Emma pulled a face. “Urgh... God. You two kiss too much,” she grumbled as Jeremiah slipped off the dog's back and started clamouring for the bags in Ichabod's hands.

Abbie arched both her brows. “Who said that's what we were going to do?” she asked.

“Because that's the _only_ reason you ever ask us to leave the room,” Emma huffed as she took several of the bags herself and perched the kitten on her shoulder. “Come on, Jerry. Mum and Dad want to kiss again because, God forbid they go more than two hours without doing so.”

The girl rolled her eyes as she started toward the kitchen but Abbie didn't miss the brief, cute smile that appeared on her lips just before she moved out of visual range. Once the kids were in the kitchen—and she could even hear then rustling around in the background, giggling and laughing as they went about the task of feeding their new pets—Abbie tilted her head and just took in the sight of Ichabod dressed like a straight laced college professor. 

She had no idea when 'sexy college professor' became a look she liked but... she liked it on him at least. He moved closer to her, trailed his knuckles along the curve of her jaw then under her chin. “I trust you slept well?” he asked softly, tilting her head back just enough that, if he wanted to, he wouldn't have any issues kissing her.

“I certainly did,” Abbie replied.

He leaned in slightly then pulled back as though thinking better of it. Abbie thought it a bit odd that, given they were married in this little dream he was hesitant about kissing her, like he wasn't completely convinced he was allowed to. She stepped up onto the bottom stair which brought her almost to his height.

“Better?” Abbie asked, pulling him down so her forehead rested against his.

He opened his mouth and a faint sound escaped before he settled on a quiet, “Indeed it is.” He pulled back and took her face in his hands, his eyes sweeping over her face with adoration. “What fortuitous deed have I done to deserve the affections I see in your eyes?”

This, Abbie reasoned, was definitely a dream. There was no way in hell the Ichabod she knew would so much as notice she looked at him with more than friendly affection, much less point it out.

“Is something amiss, my dearest?” Ichabod asked.

_Shit_ , Abbie mentally swore. She smiled brightly. “No, why would there be? I got you, got two beautiful kids, cat, and a tiny horse pretending to be a dog... good job, nice house... everything is perfect.”

Ichabod laughed gently. “Almost perfect... the afflictions of my mind which caused me to confuse reality with the books I wrote are... what's the word?” He stepped back and got the look of searching his memory. “Vexatious.” He nodded. “Yes... vexatious is most appropriate.”

“Why do you say that?” Abbie asked. So far distracting him was working out well, so that maybe he wouldn't implore further about something being 'amiss.'

“Whilst I am most assuredly accepting of this reality... there is a small part of my mind that is refusing to release the idea that this is merely a dream,” Ichabod replied, his hands making small sweeping motions as he spoke. His eyes fell on her again. “And I fear it makes me apprehensive that, on the slightest likelihood that this is in fact the dream, she would discover the context of this and become furious if I were to... fully succumb to the idea that you and I... are...” his face flushed a soft pink.

Abbie felt her lips twist into a smirk. “So... you're saying you're scared this _other me_ might actually be the real me and she would find out you dreamed she was your wife and lover?”

Ichabod considered it for a moment. “Yes.”

“I think she'd be more furious that you never told her you felt this way,” Abbie replied. She reached out and grabbed the knot of his tie, pulled him close again. “Because if _she_ is anything like _me_ , she would welcome any move you made on her. Even if it was just a dream.”

“Oh my _God_ you two,” Emma proclaimed from the doorway. “Just kiss already so I can go to my room.”

They both looked over and Emma had the kitten on her shoulder and a small bowl in each hand, one with water, one with food. Next to her was Jeremiah with bigger bowls held over his head and the dog was attempting to nose the food bowl out of his hand. Abbie shook her head. “They eat in the kitchen just like we do. Especially the horse,” she said, pointing to the kitchen.

Both children groaned but turned and went back into the kitchen.

Abbie looked back to Ichabod. “Now, where were we?” When Ichabod opened his mouth to speak, Abbie leaned in and silenced him with hers. He made a soft sound and fell right into returning her kiss. His hands rested on her waist, then slid down to her hips. She was surprised to find out he was much better at kissing than she thought he would be. Her eyes fluttered open and her heart skipped a beat when she saw his blue eyes gazing right back at her.

His hands slid behind her back. One stayed just above the curve of her ass, the other moved upward and pulled her flush against him. Abbie wrapped her arms around his neck. Everything just seemed to fade away around them. All she became aware of was the warmth of his lips and the desperation with which they explored each other's mouths. His lower hand inched over the swell of her backside and then grasped a handful.

For a moment, Abbie thought he was just going to haul her up against him and carry her off to the bedroom—and she wouldn't have objected one bit—but he gasped for breath. A tiny “eh-hem” caught their attention and Emma held a cell phone out toward them. “Someone wants to talk to Daddy.”

“Who would wish to speak with me...?” Ichabod wondered aloud.

“It's a surprise,” she sighed. “Mum didn't want us to say anything until they got here.”

Ichabod looked at Abbie and Abbie didn't have to feign not knowing who it was. She had no idea who it possibly be. He retrieved the phone from their daughter like it was a ticking time-bomb and put it to his ear. “This is... Ichabod Crane, how may I be of service?” he asked curiously.

She watched the way his smile faded into surprise then disbelief. If at all possible he became even paler than normal. Then phone dropped from his hand and he staggered back, looking down at the phone as if a ghost had been on the other end. “Ichabod, are you okay?” Abbie asked. She made to move toward him but he held up a hand and nodded.

He swallowed hard and knelt down to pick up the phone, cradling it tenderly in his hands as he put it back to his ear. “Forgive me,” he said quietly to the person on the phone. “I am doing well, Mother.”

Abbie closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Small flashes of memories that were not hers but at the same time were filled her head. The memories tucked themselves right in next to the real ones she had already made with Ichabod in reality. Her mom was still gone, her dad was still MIA, Jenny and Joe were together, living at the cabin... Both of Ichabod's parents were still alive but she couldn't readily recall their faces.

That's when it occurred to Abbie that Ichabod was not in her dream after all. 

She was in _his_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod senses something is not quite right about Abbie. Abbie is perplexed by Ichabod's parents. And they both are convinced they are going to Hell for the same reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update! :D   
> Like I said yesterday, this is basically the second half of the previous chapter. But am working on chapter 8!

Ichabod drummed his fingers on his legs as they waited in the traffic to get to the airport terminal. Abbie reached over and put a hand over one of his. Her reassurance was a welcome reprieve but did nothing to calm his nerves for once.

_“Good morning, Ichabod. How is my handsome boy today?”_

He had not heard that beautiful Caribbean voice since he had been but a boy. It had greeted him every morning, including the one in which she had succumbed to a fever, until he was nearly ten years old. He could still remember sitting on her bedside, tears stinging his eyes as she stroked his face tenderly and said those words. And it wasn't until two years after her death that he didn't wake up and try to mimic her accent as he whispered the words to himself.

Given his natural mother had perished in childbirth, father had to obtain a wet nurse for him in the earliest days of his life. From what he understood, Rose had recently lost her own child and gladly took up the chance at employment. But, even after he had grown too old for a wet nurse, she had remained a permanent figure in the house. Father had always made certain she was well taken care of and treated her with tenderness and--

Oh good lord, certain things from his childhood were starting to make sense. The fact his father had never remarried or kept company with womenfolk. He had encouraged Ichabod had start calling her 'mother' instead of 'Nurse Rose'. He recalled the way her face lit up when he did start calling her 'mother.' 

Father had been a kind, albeit sometimes strict, man before she had passed. Then he had turned bitter. Cold. Angry. _Twice the Lord has betrayed me_... his father had ranted while over-indulging in drink, the night of her passing. _Twice. Do not put your faith in God Ichabod, He will only betray you. He will tear away every ounce of happiness you seek. Put your faith in knowledge and wisdom. It will never let you down._

His father had fallen in love with her. Whether because of propriety or some other conflict, they had never married...

But now, he could remember sitting on her bedside, in a hospital. She had been just as frail and weak, she had greeted him just the same. Except this time... _this time_ the doctor had smiled and said she was expected to fully recover in a few days time. Ichabod could recall a childhood where he had been the one to present them with rings during their wedding. He could recall every morning being awakened to her sweet voice greeting him, whether in person or over the telephone while attending school. Long distance charges had not even swayed her during his days in university.

He looked at Abbie and smiled. She returned the smile, albeit slightly more tense than he felt it should be. He could remember introducing Abbie to his parents and how Mother had squealed with delight and hugged them both proclaiming, “Oh she is so beautiful... my handsome boy did good.” Then pulled back and looked at Abbie pointedly and said, “You could have done better because these Crane boys are nothing but pure trouble. But _my boy_ , he got himself a beautiful, shining angel.”

Father had approved, despite being concerned about the dangers of Abbie's job at the time, working with Westchester County Sheriff's Department. And they had liked that she was able to balance working at the borough and getting the education she needed to one day join the FBI.

Ichabod frowned. Something was truly amiss with Abbie. He couldn't put his finger on it... there was something different but very familiar with her behaviour. And now that he thought about it, his memories were not foggy and unstructured any more. He could clearly recall events from what he had been being led to believe was nothing but a story book he had written _and_ the events of his life in this wondrous place. They had been clear since that morning when he had awakened, but now they were in sharp crystal clarity.

And Abbie was tense. Something had her tense. She had not been tense since he had awakened in this life that was still very new to him. He wanted to implore but, he had a distinct feeling she would employ tactics to distract him yet again. She may not realize he had picked up on that cue, but he had. 

He still wondered what was causing her unease. 

He would consider it might be leaving the children with Jenny whilst they picked up his parents, but the tenseness had been there before that moment. It had been there since he and the children arrived from their outing to the animal shelter. Something had felt different about Abbie. He had been progressing to feeling more comfortable around her and accepting that she was his wife and best friend instead of only his friend. But upon arrival home he had felt the nervousness creeping back in.

At first he had thought it was because she had looked so beautiful upon entering the house. Something had flickered in her eyes as though she had not been expecting him to be the one to walk through the door. Part of him wondered if she had received an unsettling call from work during his outing. Then again, Emma had stated they had been keeping the impending visit from his parents secret... perhaps that's what she had been apprehensive about?

That had to be it.

She had been concerned enough to have his parents visit to try and help him differentiate between the facts and fictions huddled up in his head. He just hoped he didn't turn into a sobbing mess the moment he saw Mother, which was very much a likelihood. He looked at Abbie, turned his hand over to gently squeeze her fingers.

“I fear I have not said these words nearly enough, Abbie,” he said quietly. She drew in a sharp breath. “All your patience and kindness in dealing with my inabilities to adjust to what I feel is a strange and foreign situation... your indomitable spirit...”

“Just say it, will you?” Abbie sighed under her breath.

“I love you,” Ichabod said. “Sometimes I think I loved you before I even knew who you were, that you so much as existed. When I first saw you, I felt as though I had been waiting my entire life to find you. Just so I could say those three words to you.”

Abbie's chin quivered. When she glanced his way he could see tears in her eyes. It had been words he had wanted to say to her since he had met her in the other reality—or what he perceived as the other reality—but had always been too afraid to say. Though he had a certain affection for Mary and had loved Katrina... something felt perfect and right in saying them to Abbie. Perhaps if it took a turn that this was not the actual reality after all, he could get the courage to say them to _his_ Abbie.

“I...” Abbie started. She squeezed his hand tightly. “I love you too Ichabod.”

A car pulled away from the terminal curb and Abbie quickly released his hand and tried to swerve into the newly freed space the same time someone else did. The other driver blew their horn, rolled down their window and started shouting at Abbie. Abbie huffed under her breath and dug into the console between them. “I don't like abusing privileges but...” She yanked out her FBI badge and let down her own window. “FBI business. Find some place else to park.”

The other person backed out and Abbie pulled into the spot. She let up her window and glanced at him with a shy smile. “That's only the second time I've done something like that.”

“When was the first?” Ichabod asked curiously.

Abbie thought a moment. “Last year, Starbucks was crowded and I was going to be late for work but I really needed my Americano. Held up this badge and said I was there on official FBI business and needed all the customers to step aside. You'd be surprised how quick people get out of your way when you say that... even if it doesn't make sense in the situation.”

They climbed out of the car. Ichabod waited at the front bumper as Abbie came around. She took the hand he offered to help her onto the slope of the curve. “Which gate did your mom say?” she asked.

“B47, terminal 5.”

Abbie nodded. “So we're at the right terminal at least. Let's try baggage claim first.”

Together they strode purposely to into the building. Ichabod captured Abbie's hand as they entered, entwining his fingers with hers. He could not deny that he enjoyed living a life in which he could not only freely express his love for Abbie but it was expected. The only thing that made this life better was that she openly returned his affections.

“There's my boy!”

Ichabod whirled around, eyes wide. Time seemed to stand still as the tiny woman shoved her bags into his bewildered father's arms and ran, arms open wide, to him. She wasn't nearly as petite and short as Abbie, but she was just small enough for him to engulf her in a tight embrace and rest his cheek against her closely shorn hair.

He inhaled the scent of cinnamon and closed his eyes. _Cinnamon_. He remembered she always smelled of cinnamon. Just as Abbie always smelled of lavender and honey.

_“What is that delightful scent?” he asked Abbie. It had been the morning after the embarrassing incident in which he had been caught ogling Abbie's delicates while doing household chores._

_“I'm making cinnamon rolls,” Abbie replied, pulling a baking sheet from the oven. “Want one?”_

_He had taken the offering without hesitation, taken time to inhale the scent and get lost in the memory of another time and place. “This scent always seemed to cling to my mother,” he admitted quietly. “I never knew what it was called. There would sometimes be a trace of it in a market or shop... and it would be remind of her...”_

Maybe she had not been the one to bare him, but she was the only mother he had ever known.

Mother wriggled free of his arms, took his face in hand and showered him with kisses. “My pretty boy. My handsome boy. You have gotten taller. Or I have gotten shorter?” She patted his cheeks with both hands and smiled brightly. It was that moment which tears chose to make themselves known. She wiped them away with her thumbs. “Oh no, no, no... no need to cry honey, your mama is here.”

How could he explain that was _why_ he was crying?

He looked toward Abbie. She had one arm folded over her chest was biting her knuckles of her other hand with a perplexed glimmer in her eyes. “Abbie!” Mother proclaimed, running over to embrace her. “You beautiful angel...”

His father approached, arms still laden with bags. He nodded curtly. “Ichabod.”

“Father...” Ichabod responded just as formally. “Shall I take the bags?”

“Good Lord, yes,” Father replied and foisted them into Ichabod's arms. “I have four bags to yet retrieve...”

It was at this time Mother returned and retrieved her bags. “Now where are my beautiful grandbabies?”

“They are at the house awaiting your arrivals, under the care of Miss Jenny,” Ichabod replied.

Mother patted his cheek again. “Go help your papa with the bags. Your love and I will wait at the car.”

  
#  


Abbie was still trying to wrap her head around it. Crane was taller than either of his parents. Not to mention... his mother was black. Possibly from the Islands but Abbie didn't want to ask because she felt like that was something she would readily know being married to their son for a decade. Come to think of it, was it even legal in 18th century England? She knew it was legal in a few of the colonial states back in those days but...

Okay, maybe she was over thinking things. There was a logical explanation.

“I was four,” Ichabod said from the bed. “When my father asked if I would mind if she were my mother. I, of course, was over joyed at the thought. My birth mother died when I was born. All of my friends had mothers, I wanted a mother... And, to me, no one was better suited than Rose. So Father had me take her a flower and ask her if she would be my mother.”

Ah, so she had been the one to raise him in his childhood. That made sense.

“I take it she said yes,” Abbie grinned.

“She cried, actually. She wept every time, for the first few weeks, when I called her mother,” Ichabod said. “Of happiness. She said she had lost a son prior to gaining employment with my father and had always wanted a handsome son. She accused my father of being a sneak, knowing she wouldn't dream of saying no to me. That was when he proposed to her. It's one of those things one looks back upon and realizes all the indications were there. I was but a child, I had no knowledge of marriage and romantic love at the time.”

Abbie poked her head out of the bathroom door. “Is this... real life or... book life?” She had already learned and pieced together that, a good way to find out what the hell was going on, was to question Ichabod. It came off as her trying to help him remember 'real life' to see if he knew the difference.

“Both actually... sort of,” he replied. “I imagine their relationship is what the one in my book was based upon. The exception being that they never married in the books. And I simply used the situation of her sickness in my youth to play out my fear of losing her.”

Abbie leaned back into the bathroom and checked the mirror she had sitting on the counter, trying to see if he was paying attention to what she was doing. So far she had caught him only taking brief glances if she made a sudden or large movement but quickly putting his attention back on the book he was reading. But that had just been for simple things like brushing her teeth and removing make-up. Now it was time for the big test.

She pulled her dress over her head and dropped it on the floor with a flourish that was sure to catch his attention. All she heard was a soft, “Oh good Lord...” She looked at the mirror and he was staring. Actually, he was tilting his head and leaning slightly to get a better view. “Abbie... do you... require assistance of... any sort?”

“Nope... I'm good,” Abbie called, pulling on _the_ black see-through cami and the underwear that went along with it. Next was a black satin robe and her hair wrap. When she walked out of the bathroom, Ichabod had the book face down on his lap, watching her intently as she moved across the room. She made sure the bedroom door was securely locked, curtains drawn closed, and then sat on the edge of the bed.

She could do this. So far she knew if she made even the slightest advance, Ichabod would give in. Hell at one point, while his mother had been cooking dinner, Abbie had leaned in with the pretence of kissing him and pulled away at the last second, grinning as he tried to continue leaning in for the kiss. She had scurried upstairs, he had chased after her and ended up cornering her, getting the kiss anyway. That interlude, of course, had been interrupted by Emma coming out of her bedroom.

It felt damn good being able to be that way with Ichabod. No impending doom and gloom of the apocalypse, no Crane family drama... Hell, no Witness related drama period. They were just normal people doing normal things.

Abbie looked over her shoulder as she slipped off the robe. “Still worried the other me might find out about us?”

“As... you have... pointed out,” Ichabod replied slowly. “In all... likelihood... she would understand that this is... merely... a dream. Perhaps she would see... other motives... in her being... my... wife aside from...” His voice trailed off when Abbie turned and crawled across the bed. “I was... thinking... things... and words...”

“I'm sure you were,” Abbie said, straddling his knees. She wasn't really sure if the person she was in this little dream world would be quite as forward but, she had been holding it in for far too long. She had to put up with crazy witch wives, crazy ex girlfriends, crazy headless ex friends, demon possessed people, and not to mention his little string bean twitchy ass. 

Out of all the people in his past and present, he had chosen _her_ to be his wife in his dream. She moved the book from his lap and scooted into the newly vacated place. Not to mention she discovered why he'd had it there in the first place. “Why me? If this is _your_ dream... Why, out of all the people you could have chosen... why me?”

Ichabod trailed his fingers along the curve of her shoulder. His eyes couldn't seem to find a place to focus. “If you would bother to read my books, you would know that our intrepid hero is madly in love with his partner but entirely too fearful to say so. Much as I was entirely too nervous to approach you when we were in university... So naturally it would be you.”

Abbie searched all her memories for a second. The memories were there, right along side her actual college years. Ichabod being adorably awkward. Him meeting the Corbin's and Jenny, her meeting the Crane's, _two_ pregnancy scares despite their taking several efforts to prevent it from happening, proposal, marriage... everything.

“A subtle movement draws his attention, pulling him away from the ancient worlds hidden within the dusty tomes,” Ichabod said softly. “Had it been another, he probably would not have been so easily distracted. But, as it were, any graceful movement the lovely lieutenant made could render him captivated; even something so simple as tucking her dark hair behind her ear. A bolder man would have taken the chance to lavish her throat with kisses and praise the golden glow the soft candle light cast upon her skin. However, being a man of boldness was not a quality he could claim to possess so he was destined to simply imagine a scenario in which he was.”

_Interesting_ , Abbie mused to herself. She never would have pegged Ichabod as being the type to be terrified of approaching a woman. With all she knew of his accomplishments in his first life, it was a bit of a surprise. But, at the same time, even accomplished people had at least one thing they were bad at. Ichabod's Achilles heel was apparently picking up women on his own.

“What about her?” Abbie asked. She guided his hands to her hips, placed small kisses along his jaw, making Ichabod sigh raggedly. “What does the lovely lieutenant think of him?” 

“There are... flirtations,” Ichabod murmured, lightly pulling her more flush against him. Abbie let out a low moan and his lips brushed her neck as her head fell back. “But I thought, perhaps, I should see what my... beautiful wife thinks our intrepid heroine may feel?”

Oh she could tell him exactly what the intrepid heroine was feeling at that moment. She buried her fingers in his hair and brought her lips close to his. “I think,” Abbie replied hotly. “On one hand, she loves when he touches her. I think she dreams about him touching her... _a lot_. And it's not always in a naughty way either. Sometimes she just dreams about the way he lightly trails his fingers over along her palm when he's handing her something. On the other hand she hates his touch because no matter how innocent his touch is... _damn_ it just sets every inch of her on fire.” She caught his bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. “But she's just as scared as he is so she doesn't say anything either.”

Ichabod dragged her camisole up and over her head. “Quite the predicament.”

“They should definitely find a way to... resolve the predicament,” Abbie purred.

“I whole-heartedly concur,” Ichabod murmured. “Fire, you say?”

Abbie nodded gently. “She's surprised she hasn't already spontaneously combusted.”

“And what of _you_ , my love?” Ichabod asked. “What does my touch do to you?”

“The same,” Abbie replied. “Except, at the moment we are in the perfect position—no pun intended—to do something about it.”

His eyes searched her face before settling on her lips. “But... what if _this_ is the dream?” He traced the curve of her mouth with his thumb.

Abbie leaned in close, lightly brushed her lips over his. “Ask yourself what you would do if you were dreaming I was your wife... and do it.” She knew what she would do if the roles were reversed. Actually she was doing it. If she knew it was a dream, which she did, she would definitely be doing her best to seduce him. 

Because that what dreams were for... playing out the scenarios and mindful meanderings from throughout the day. Dreams were where hopes and fears gathered to play and manifested themselves as either fantasies or nightmares. And so far, this one was definitely a fantasy for her as much as it was Ichabod. 

A small yelp came from her mouth and she wrapped her arms around Ichabod's neck as he hoisted her against him then laid her down against the mattress. He settled his hips between her thighs. His fingers made quick work of freeing her hair from the silk scarf and setting it aside. Ichabod tentatively stroked her cheek.

“If this proves to not be reality,” he said quietly. “There shall surely be a special place set aside for me in Hell.”

Abbie nodded. “Yep, right next to me.” She had no doubt in her mind that there would be one set aside for her too.

“Oh, Abbie...” Ichabod's expression softened along with his voice. “No place, in which you are by my side, could ever be Hell.”

Abbie was pretty sure she could have countered his argument with something insightful but then his mouth was on hers, his hands were caressing her tenderly, and they were earning that special place in Hell.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little too real

_Abbie laughed softly as she looked down at the drunk man on the mattress next to her bed. They had been skirting around each other for the better part of a year and now here he was, in her dorm room. And he was blushing and giving that little shy smile that made him look like a drunk chipmunk._

_He was blushing because she called him out on the little love tokens he had been leaving on her door every morning. “How... how did you know it was me?” he asked._

_Abbie hummed softly. “Let me see... who all do I know that could probably get a side job writing sentimental greeting cards? Not to mention I recognized your handwriting. Honestly, Ichabod, did you really think I wouldn't realize the handwriting on the cards was the same as the one in our notes for the project?”_

_His eyes widened. “I had forgotten I wrote on your notes.”_

_Abbie laughed. “So let me get this straight... you can almost perfectly recite any book you've read but you forgot you wrote three pages of information in my notes? Which, by the way, almost half of it I couldn't read but it looked suspiciously like you wrote 'words' half a dozen times.”_

_He blushed again. “You clearly underestimate the beauty of your smile. So ensnared was I that I... You had distracted me when you started doing that thing in which you bite your lip and lick your lips...” He sat up and took possession of the hand she had at the edge of the bed. “Abigail Mills... would you do me the honour of... marrying me?” He startled, a horrified expression over took his face, and then he shook his head to clear it. “What I meant was...”_

_A grin spread across her lips. “Too late to back pedal now.”_

_He closed his eyes and sighed heavily as he flopped back down against the mattress. “Oh God... I... I honestly meant to... to ask if... you would... I... would you attend the art festival with me this weekend, Miss Mills?”_

_“That's more like it,” Abbie laughed. “I was about to point out that marriage proposals were best done when sober. Especially when we haven't even gone on a date yet. That is what you're asking for right? A date? Not some lame ass 'be a pal and come with me to this place' thing.”_

_He nodded gently. “It is most certainly intended to be a date, Miss Mills. But for the record... that wasn't a 'no' to the marriage proposal?”_

_“Let's see how the date goes first,” she said softly as he kissed her fingers. She had a feeling the date would go perfect. Even if everything went wrong, it would still be perfect. Abbie couldn't help but smile at the thought that his first instinct had been to ask her to marry him. While she had never really seen herself as the type to get married, she could easily picture herself waking up to this adorable dork for the rest of her life._

_She couldn't explain it. She had struggled most her life to get by. Came from a broken home. Had been in and out of foster homes. Hell, she had been lucky to get a full scholarship thanks to the help Sheriff Corbin had given her on what to apply for. But she still had to work at the college book store during the week_ and _in as a reserve officer at the Sheriff's department every other weekend._

_And Ichabod, at least from what she had been able to gather from their conversations, he'd had everything practically handed to him his entire life. Prestigious schools. Ivy League schools had been banging on his door when he showed interest in attending university in America. Wanted to go to a little no name university instead? Sure, no probs. Mommy and Daddy just paid for his apartment and school out of pocket._

_They couldn't have been any more different. Hell, he was tall when she was short. And of course there were other fairly obvious differences they shared. Yet... they had clicked right away. They both, despite having a couple of close friends, preferred keeping to themselves. They both had a love of reading and having a cup of tea—and Abbie loved watching his face twitch when she microwaved the water for tea._

_He held her hand against his chest, she could feel the rapid beating of his heart. One of his hands traced a gentle path down her arm and back to her wrist. “I would be a happy man if our children had your smile.”_

_“Children?” Abbie grinned. She could see him blush even in the minute lighting of the room. “You already thought about our children? Just how much have you plotted out in that handsome head of yours about what our life would be like?”_

_He cringed. “I should really learn to shut up when I have been drinking. I should shut up now before I frighten you more than I already have.”_

_Abbie shook her head and he arched an eyebrow curiously. “No, no, no... Don't shut up now,” she said softly. “I'm not scared. Actually now I'm curious about what kind of life I will have as the future Mrs. Crane.”_

_So for the next two hours she listened and came to the realization that he paid closer attention to her—what she liked, didn't like, her dreams for herself—than she had ever knew. And what was funny is that she could visualize his plans too. Just before dawn she slipped off of her bed and joined him on the mattress._

_And Katrina was none too please with what they were doing on her mattress when she returned to the dorm to get ready for her first class._

  
#  


Abbie stared out of the window, huddling herself in Ichabod's robe, her interest intent on a cat digging in the neighbour's garbage. That is, if she had actually been consciously observing rather than lost in a memory that she wished was real. She didn't know how many times she had wondered what would have happened if Ichabod had been born in the modern era and lived in it. What if they had met under normal circumstances? What if they had both been younger?

It was all there. There was a memory for each query she had. Did they go out with Katrina and Abraham? _When the other two could pull them away from Classic Doctor Who and cuddling on the sofa_. 

What kind of boyfriend had he been? _He had spoiled her. Good God he had spoiled her no matter how much she protested, although Jenny was more than happy to enjoy the spa retreats he sent them on every other month_. 

Hell, what kind of girlfriend had she been? _Awkward best summed her up in the beginning. The folks at the Sheriff's Department had teased her about bouquets of flowers that greeted her at the beginning of her shifts on work weekends. Terrified described her as well. Terrified that she wasn't good enough, that his parents would never approve of there perfect little boy having well... her as the potential mother of their grandchildren—the thought of actually wanting children with him had terrified her too. No one had ever made her think about things like kids and wedding décor on her own free will. It had been so weird being treated like a human being with feelings, emotions, and stresses after a string of boyfriends who just wanted sex and for her to make damn sandwiches._

_“You have to stop spoiling me, Ichabod,” she had said more than once._

_“Never,” he had promptly responded each time._

How was it a dream—which she knew that's what it was—could have so many of the things _she_ wanted and it not be _her_ dream? How could the dream feel so... real? She had realistic dreams before but not _this_ realistic. Even in her most realistic dreams there was still a feeling of being on the outside looking in. Not to mention _other things_ had felt entirely too real, much too real, more real than she had anticipated when she had decided it would be a good idea to just play into the whole scenario that was going on.

She glanced toward the bed at that thought. Ichabod had an arm draped over the pillow she had slipped into place when she had crawled out of the bed. His fingers twitched and curled into the pillow. He made a small sound and pulled the pillow closer, burying his face in it. Almost immediately he raised his head, eyes barely open. “Lieu—Abbie?” he called softly, then a little more frantically. “Abbie?”

Abbie hurried back over, discarding the robe as she went, then crawled back into the bed, into his arms. “I'm here,” she said quietly. He held her tightly against him, burying his face in her hair before sighing with contentment.

“I thought you had left me,” he murmured.

  
#  


_She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath. She could do this. She had been putting it off for two days. It was best to treat it like a band-aid and just do it in one quick swoop. Don't give herself time to think. Just do it._

_Abbie tried to ignore the annoyed student who groaned, “I never thought I would say this but I miss how he used to teach” as they left the lecture hall._

_“Yeah really, where'd overly dramatic Shakespeare go?” their companion asked just before they got out of hearing range._

_Once the last of the students filed out, Abbie steeled her nerve and walked into the classroom. It would be two hours before another class would start, so she had plenty of time. He was at his desk, head buried in his folded arms. His assistant was in front of the desk, concern on her face._

_“You sure you don't want anything, Professor Crane?” she asked tentatively. “Food? Water? Do you want me to see if Professor Ankler has time to come talk to you again?”_

_Without lifting his head he responded, “Thank you for asking, Miss Corinth. I do actually need a few things from my office.”_

_“Okay... what do you need?” The young woman looked excited like, maybe he was making an effort to move forward._

_“First, send out an email that all of my afternoon classes are cancelled. Then, there will be a little plastic cylinder in my top right drawer, the blue one. I need it. Then I need you to get the key to my display box and bring me the flint lock pistol that's inside along with the cylinder. Then I will need privacy. There will be no need to check on me. In fact, it would prove best to lock the door when you leave at that time so no one comes in. But after about two hours, simply contact the local EMS and tell them to also bring along a clean up crew.”_

_Miss Corinth's face fell. “Professor Crane...”_

_Abbie cleared her throat before the poor girl could burst into tears. Ichabod's head lifted and he tried to compose himself. “If you could, permit me and my wi—Abbie to have a moment?”_

_The girl nodded and hurried out, closing the door behind her. Ichabod clasped his hands on the desk and sighed in defeat. “Abbie...” he said quietly, keeping his gaze fixed on his hands. “I can only deduce why you have come.”_

_Abbie walked over to the desk and plopped a manilla folder down in front of him. “I'm giving you five days. That's plenty of time for you to read over the division of property.”_

_“I don't care about the property. What about the children?”_

_“Joint custody. You'll get them every other weekend and we'll alternate Christmas and Thanksgiving. During the summer months they get to stay with you_ as long as _you stay sober while they are with you and your place stays a safe environment for them to be in,” she said, trying to keep emotion out of her voice when she could tell he was fighting back tears._

_Ichabod nodded. “Of course.” He removed the papers from the folder, grabbed a pen and quickly went through signing where the lawyer had put tabs in the places he was meant to do so. “I know you made certain everything was fair,” he said listlessly and slid the papers back into the folder. He swallowed hard and held the folder out toward her, still not looking at her._

_Abbie folded her arms over her chest. She wasn't taking it until he looked her in the eyes. After a moment he closed his eyes and softly sighed, “_ Please _, Abigail... just take them.”_

_“I'm not doing this to be mean, Ichabod.”_

_“I know,” her replied quietly. “And I trust you are aware that I have only ever wished for your happiness. Even if it is not with me.”_

_“I find that hard to believe when you won't even look at me,” Abbie said._

_He finally looked up at her then quickly looked away again. Abbie took the folder from him. That tiny little glance would have to be enough. “Do me a favour though, stop talking about wanting to kill yourself to your assistant. She doesn't get paid enough to put up with that shit.” He nodded shakily. Abbie started for the door but then stopped and turned back. “You know, I know you only want me to be happy but... it would have been nice if you had actually put up a fight. Because, I really want... wanted to be happy with you. But I can't just sit back and watch you destroy yourself and having the kids watch it too.”_

_Ichabod was quiet a long moment. “I did fight. I just kept losing the battle.” His hands shook as he brought them to his face. “I tried, Abbie. I tried very hard to fight. When I would see their faces, I would fight... But then... it wasn't their faces. It was... yours and it was Emma's and Jeremiah's... My mother's, my fathers... Abraham, Katrina... everyone I love and hold dear... and I...”_

_It was Abbie's turn to close her eyes. She drew in a calming breath then slowly exhaled. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly and walked out of the lecture hall._

_Two days later she was sitting next to his sleeping form in the hospital, holding his hand because he had fool-heartedly jumped in front of a bullet to save her. She smiled when his eyes finally fluttered open and he groaned softly against the pain. She didn't even say anything before bolting to her feet and kissing him all over his face then kissed his lips._

_When she pulled back, he blinked up at her. “Uhmm... so I made it to heaven after all. That's a surprise.”_

_“Shut up,” Abbie whispered with just a small hint of laughter in her voice. “Try not to move around too much. You're going to be a bit sore. For right now you just need to rest.” She kissed his forehead, his nose, then his lips again. But this time when she did, his hand weakly came up and caught the back of her neck as he returned the kiss._

_“What about...” he said quietly when their lips parted. “What about your Mister Reynolds?”_

_“We parted on good terms,” she replied quietly. “Besides, the whole 'I'm still in love with my husband' thing was causing a lot of stress in the relationship.”_

_“Good... I didn't want to pry, but, Emma does not like him. At all.”_

_She put her forehead to his. “Well, she's a Daddy's girl through and through so she didn't take kindly to him trying to get them to start calling him dad. But I put a stop to that as soon as I found out about it. Ain't no one going to try and replace you.” She brushed her lips over his. “We'll get through all of this, babe. I promise. I don't care what we have to do, but we'll work through everything. And our little family is going to be stronger because of it.”_

_“But the divorce papers...”_

_Abbie smiled softly. “I never filed them. Actually, I was hoping once you got home, we could use them for kindling in the firepit.”_

_“Lovely...” Ichabod replied. He grasped her hand, bring it to his heart. “Oh yes... home...” He was quiet a moment and she thought he had gone back to sleep. But then he murmured, “We should go to Paris. We haven't been to Paris yet and we were supposed to do that on our Fifth in France. Remember? Just the two of us. The children can stay with my mother and father whilst we go.”_

_“I remember,” Abbie said. “I'm just glad we're going to have a chance to get your 75 year plan back on track.”_

  
#  


Abbie's laughter had to be the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. It was rivalled only by the sound of her moaning his name. Both would most assuredly linger in his mind until the end of time.

She grasped his hands to hold them steady, still laughing heartily. “Will you stop?! You act like you've never seen breasts before.”

Ichabod arched an eyebrow and smirked. “Ah, yes, but yours are so delightfully _bouncy_ ,” he murmured. When she let go of his hands and gave him a stern glare, he gave them another gentle shake to make them bounce. Abbie's eyes danced with amusement and she burst into laughter again. “Honestly, they are quite mesmerizing.”

Their laughter and giggles dissolved into kisses and soft moans. Which was then interrupted by a firm knock at their bedroom door. They're eyes widened when the knob rattled. They looked at each other as if asking if the other had remembered to lock the door then quickly clamoured for anything they might be able to use as covering. Ichabod snatched on a pair of pyjama pants, Abbie took refuge in his robe.

Thankfully the door _was_ in fact locked. “Mum, Dad,” Emma's annoyed voice intoned. “Nana wants to know if the two of you want to go to church with us.”

They shared a look. “Would you?” he asked.

Abbie snickered, tying the robe shut. Her eyes danced gleefully as she idly chewed on the cuff of the robe sleeve. “After last night I feel like we probably _need_ to go to church.”

“ _Or_ ,” Ichabod purred, pulling her close to him. “We could seize the opportunities available to a house free of young children and house guests for several hours...”

“What did you have in mind?” Abbie asked quietly. He softly whispered what he had planned, which made Abbie's breath hitch. She cleared her throat. “Maybe tonight, baby,” she said loud enough for Emma to hear. “You and Jeremiah have fun with Nana and Granddad at church.”

“That means you and Dad will have to have Sunday dinner ready when we get back,” Emma pointed out.

“Done,” Ichabod responded.

Abbie tilted an ear toward the door and soon the sound of small, retreating footsteps filled the otherwise still air. Once the footsteps had retreated out of range, she wrapped her arms around Ichabod's neck. He began to work on loosening the tie of the robe. “We should maybe at least go down for breakfast.” He reasoned there was something in his expression that reflected what had flashed through his mind at her suggestion—or perhaps it was what he had suggested for once the house was empty—because Abbie gave him a playful swat on the arm. “I meant with the family. After all, your mom and dad came all the way from London...”

“Edinburgh,” Ichabod corrected. Why would she think they lived in London? His parents had never lived in London.

Her dark eyes widened. “Edinburgh... right.” She put on a smile. “Sorry. I just got confused for a second there.” Abbie patted his chest and quickly dashed out of the bed, retying her robe as she went. “Get some clothes on and I'll be downstairs in a few ticks.”

“Cer--” he started as she retreated to the adjoining bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. “--tainly.” That had certainly been odd. Then again the Abbie in his dream had been acting odd since yesterday so he supposed it shouldn't come as a surprise.

A dream. Yes. Definitely a dream. A very realistic dream but a dream nonetheless. He wasn't certain how or when his mind had become set and sure on the idea but this was not reality. All he knew was that at some point it had all snapped into place in perfect clarity that, no matter how much he wanted this to all be real, it wasn't. Except now he had the mild trepidation of 'what if this is real' instead of the persistent 'what if the other reality is the real one' that had plagued him since his own arrival.

The lack of persistence on the new frame of mind alone was enough to convince him that it wasn't real. He knew for a fact his Abbie was probably frantically trying to find a way to bring him out of this reality. Maybe her and Miss Jenny tirelessly trying to help was what had enabled him to tell the difference.

Although he had to commend his mind on making everything at least _seem_ real. The attention to detail was boggling. While he had imagined what it would be like to kiss, hold, and even make love to Abbie this dream had made certain to make it feel even better than he had ever imagined. Even the lingering scent of cinnamon from his mother had not seemed as sharp and detailed as everything revolving around Abbie.

_Abbie_. Yes... Abbie was the key. When this reality had been trying to convince him it was real, it had been memories of Abbie that had persisted. He could remember a book... at the Archives. It held the answer to what was happening and how it could be fixed.

Now all he had to do was get to the Archives and retrieve the book. Maybe just holding the book and opening it would help trigger the memories he needed to get out of this dream and find out precisely how Abbie played into it all.

His ears pricked at the sound of the shower turning on. While part of him reasoned that it would save time to ask if Abbie minded a little company in her shower, another part of him knew it would by no means save any time at all. And he needed to stay focused on what needed to be done.

So, he simply rummaged for a shirt from the chest of drawers and tugged it on to accompany the pyjama pants he already wore. Once breakfast was done, he too would get a shower then find a moment to sneak away to the Archives to seek out his answers.

  
#  


Abbie closed the closet with a smile and hoped Ichabod would be pleased when he next opened it. While she did like the suburban teacher slash house husband look, she already missed the weird, displaced, revolutionary soldier look. It had only taken a few minutes for her to remember where it had been tucked away for safe keeping—top shelf of the closet oddly enough—by the version of her she had replaced.

That Abbie never would have pulled the outfit out of storage and left it hanging in the closet for him to find. Maybe that would help him realize she wasn't the Abbie that had been there when he arrived. Because what better way was there to inform him that she not only knew what they had done in his dream but she had been the one to instigate it?

Sure she could just outright tell him, but she still didn't know what state of mind he was in. Nor did she know what kind of reaction he would have to finding out the truth. If the “memories” she was recalling were any indication, she needed to tread carefully. She needed to play into her part of the fantasy, be the loving wife, and take baby steps toward making him realize this was a dream.

_There had only been one event from his second deployment that lingered in his head before that day. His entire regiment, save himself, Brom, and a couple others, had essentially been slaughtered. His head had filled in the face of his fallen comrades with his family, which had done a number on him yeah, which had led to the increased drinking. He had been on the verge of losing his job, his family, and everything because he blamed himself for not recognizing the dangerous situation quicker._

_Then the hostage situation had happened and it had completely pushed him over the edge. It really was his friends and work family being slaughtered in front of him. There had been the glimmer of hope when he and Brom had managed to save a majority of the hostages. But then Ichabod, hoping that the culprits would just put him out of his misery for him, had insisted he was the one that convinced everyone else to go along with the plan._

_Instead it had the opposite effect. They had made him watch. They had made him relive that moment as he watched his dear friend Katrina die in Brom's arms. They had made him watch as they killed the remaining hostages one-by-one until Abbie had pushed open a bookshelf, having crept through the munition tunnels to gain access to the building._

_“I was wearing a bullet proof vest, Ichabod,” Abbie said quietly. She was sitting on the sofa, his head in her lap as she stroked his hair. The kids were asleep in front of the TV and the last few minutes of Princess and the Frog were playing out._

_“I wasn't going to risk their aiming for somewhere that wasn't protected,” Ichabod replied. “And, pardon me for saying so but, the children would be better off with the stronger of the two of us raising them.”_

_“They're better off with both of us raising them,” Abbie murmured._

_There had been therapy, medications, retreats, rehabs, and even a self-imposed four month spell at Tarrytown when he started showing confusion over what century he was in. Even now the doctors were not exactly sure why he thought he was a displaced revolutionary soldier at times but it was probably best that he no longer partake in re-enactments and to put away his costume for them._  
  
Abbie checked her reflection. Yep. She definitely looked like she was getting ready to go for a jog around the block and nothing more. The Archives was not far from the house. If she could find something to distract Ichabod for about an hour she could slip in and out without him even realizing she hadn't actually been out for a jog. She had to get that book her and Jenny had been looking through. 

She had to get out of this place before she never wanted to leave. More importantly, she had to wake Ichabod's ass up and let him know that this didn't have to only be a dream.


	9. Chapter 9

Ichabod inhaled the scent of cinnamon and sugar as he entered the kitchen. Mother was removing two loaf pans from the oven. A wave of sadness washed over him as he realized, if he succeeded in leaving this dream, she would be gone from his life forever. Father and Emma were busily cutting up fruit and putting it into bowls. Jeremiah was hovering near Mother's legs, tugging on her apron.

“May I have the first piece, Nana?” the boy asked sweetly.

Mother laughed gently. “Oh, Jeremiah, you are just as bad as your papa when he was your age.” Nonetheless, she carefully pulled a piece off of one of the loafs, cradling it in her hands using the apron as a heat barrier as she blew on it to cool it off. Once it was cool enough for her liking, she dipped it into a bowl of sugary glaze then knelt down offer it to the child.

“Why does he get the first piece?” Emma gawked. 

“Because he asked for it,” Father replied the same time as Ichabod. Mother smirked, knowing she had trained her Crane gentlemen very well.

“Can I have the first of the other loaf, then?” Emma asked. When Mother nodded, Emma scampered to the oven to join her brother.

“I used to get offended when she would let your father eat half a loaf before I even fetched the paper,” Father sighed. “But your Gran has a point... why get mad if you don't ask?” Emma stuck her tongue out at him.

Once both Emma and Jeremiah had been given their first bites of the cinnamon loaves, Mother swept away and walked over to Ichabod. “Good morning, Ichabod,” she greeted softly, pulling him down into a hug and kissed both of his cheeks. “How is my handsome boy this morning?”

Ichabod found himself smiling shyly, as he had always done, and hugging her around the waist. “I'm fine, Mother,” he replied quietly. She stepped back and patted his cheek affectionately.

Of all those he would be saying goodbye to when this dream was done, saying goodbye to Mother was going to be the hardest. He would have an Abbie of his own when he awoke. The Father he remembered had always been bitter and distant. While he now had memories of him being affectionate and kind, Ichabod knew this version of Father was just what he had always hoped for instead of the reality.

And the children... he had to remind himself that they did not even exist. They were not real. They were completely figments of his imagination. Conglomerations of himself and Abbie that he had concocted. Oh, but he had no doubt if he and Abbie were to have children, they would be the very image and minds of Emma and Jeremiah.

“May I have the second piece from the loaf, Mother?” Ichabod asked. It had smelled just as heavenly as he remembered, he wondered if it tasted the same. Mother took his hands and led him over to the oven.

“Of course you can, my precious child,” Mother replied. She ripped off a knot on the cinnamon loaf and dipped it into the glaze before handing it to him. It was perfect. Exactly as he remembered it. “Aww, yes, there is my sweet Ichy-boo's smile.”

Ichabod felt his face warm. “Mother I am a grown man...” he started but then he heard Abbie's voice behind him.

“Ichy-boo,” she snorted quietly as she made her way to the refrigerator and retrieved a carton of apple juice.

“I do not care if you are a grown man, you will always be my little Ichy-boo,” Mother said, pinching his cheek. “Now go sit down, it's time to have breakfast.” She gave Abbie a pointed look. “You too, Missy. I won't be havin' any of you all leavin this house without a proper breakfast.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Abbie responded and made her way to the table. 

His eyes swept down Abbie's petite form. She was dressed in the outfit she wore for jogging. “Planning to have a morning outing, my love?” Ichabod asked.

Abbie nodded. “Yeah, I was thinking a nice jog would help fight off the fact I didn't get much sleep last night,” she said, shooting him a flirtatious smile. “Because someone was keeping me awake.”

“Was Dad having bad dreams again?” Emma asked.

Ichabod felt his face warm. “No... no... I... we...” He glanced toward Abbie for an explanation that did not involve telling the child what they had actually been doing most of the night. Abbie took a long drink of her juice.

“Well... no,” she finally offered. “We were... talking about things.” When a worried look crossed Emma's features, Abbie quickly added, “Good things.” Emma nodded with approval.

“I take it mine and Jeremiah's request for a little sister was up for discussion,” Emma asked curiously.

Mother took a seat at the table, eyes twinkling with delight. “Oh, so there's going to be another grand baby? That would be a blessing.”

“Abbie, I feel perhaps I will need to make a 'run' of my own to get provisions for the lunch, once breakfast is done,” Ichabod said. A grocery run was as good excuse as any to be able to get to the Archives. Besides, there were a few provisions he did need to fetch. It also allowed him to completely avoid Emma's query.

“That works,” Abbie said. She, also, apparently sought to avoid Emma's comment. “I can go for my jog, you can go to the store to get what you need and then we can meet back here and start cooking lunch.” Her eyes danced with laughter and she mouthed Mother's nickname for him before eating some of the glaze dipped cinnamon loaf.

His brain suddenly decided to momentarily short circuit when Abbie gave a soft moan, as she sampled the breakfast pastry. The sound sent shivers down his spine as he forgot how to breathe. Abbie daintily placed glaze covered fingers into her mouth one at a time, casting a glance his way. She arched an eyebrow and a small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth before she shifted her attention to Jeremiah as he asked about going ice skating again, later in the afternoon. 

_He had to get out of this place_.

  
#  


Abbie carefully pushed open the door of that led into the Archives from the tunnels. Thankfully the coast was clear. She wasn't exactly sure who else would have been in them considering Ichabod had still been in the shower when she left the house. As far as she knew, he had the only key to get in through the main door.

The Archives looked _good_. Then again according to her memories it had been a pet project of Ichabod's, since they had made the decision that he would not be returning to the university, to restore the building to it's former glory. Other than a very thin sheen of dust, it looked well tended and polished. Everything was very organized which was both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because it could make it easier to find what she was looking for. A curse because, normally what they were looking for would be on one of the tables or filing cabinets and found with relative ease anyway. She spotted a stack of books on the table and hurried over, hoping against all odds that she would get lucky.

She rummaged through the stack. Her heart leapt into her throat when she found the old, red-leather bound book near the middle of the stack. The golden butterfly etched onto the cover gleamed in the sunlight. Abbie hugged it to her chest.

Perfect. She'd have them out of the dream world by supper.

She jumped when the knob of the main door rattled then the lock clicked open. Before she could even scan for a place to hide, the door was open and Ichabod was looming in the doorway looking as perplexed by her presence as she was his.

  
#  


Ichabod had been more than a little surprised by the presence of the clothing he was most accustomed to being in the closet when he opened it. He wondered, at first, if it was part of the dream world that had caused it to magically appear. But then the saw a note pinned to the lapel of the coat in Abbie's handwriting: Thought you might be more comfortable in this. xoxo Abbie

He had wasted absolutely no time in slipping into the familiar comfort of his favoured attire and adding it to the list of behaviour that was odd for the Abbie in his dream. However, was he going to argue with her sudden change of heart? Good Heavens, no. Although he was certainly going to thank her for it. 

Once they returned from their activities and he had started a meal that didn't require a lot of attention whilst it cooked, of course. After all it would not bode well to inadvertently burn the house down while tending to amorous endeavours.

Although he did have the sudden thought of whether getting caught in a house fire would cause him to wake up from the dream. _No, no, that was not the kind of solutions he needed to start considering_. Besides, there were precious few problems which setting houses ablaze would solve.

When he descended the stairs, the house was empty save the presence of Sir Patrick and Biscuit whom were curled up in the middle of the sofa, asleep. After making doubly certain, Ichabod grabbed the keys to the car and made haste to the Archives. He knew the book he was after. It didn't have a name, per se, although the Lieutenant and Miss Jenny dubbed it The Tome of Psyche because of the golden butterfly etched onto the cover and the fact it dealt with spells and potions which affected the mind and dreams.

Depending on how many blocks Abbie wished to encompass on her morning jog, he reasoned he had about an hour to get the book, go fetch the provisions he needed, and get back to the house. Plenty of time.

He considered himself fortunate to not cross Abbie's jogging path whilst on the way. However, his luck ran out as son as he opened the doors to the Archives and there stood Abbie. Her eyes wide, stunned expression on her face, and clutching the book he sought to her chest. He slowly closed the doors behind him and moved toward the table.

  
#  


Abbie shifted to the far end of the table, putting distance between herself and Ichabod as they eyed each other suspiciously. When he made a move in her direction she moved the opposite way. His eyes flickered to the book she was hugging tightly then to her face.

“Grocery store?” Abbie asked speculatively.

“Do you normally detour to the Archives whilst on your jog,” he retorted, tilting his chin up in that arrogant way he did when he was getting ready to correct someone. He braced his hands on the top of the table and leaned toward her, cocking a brow. If she didn't know he was about to make some kind of statement that would perfectly explain his presence and make her realize she was the one in the wrong, she probably would have been turned on by the sheer determination in his eyes. That and the way his tongue darted out to lightly moisten his lips.

Mostly because it made her think of the night before.

Okay, scratch that, regardless of what she knew was about to happen... she was turned on.

He glanced at her mouth, the book, and met her eyes again. “I remembered I needed one of the books I had here.” He paused briefly. “Research... for my novels of course.”

Damn. He was good. Not so good that she couldn't tell he was lying his ass off, but still good. He made a move toward her side of the table. She side stepped until she was once again on the other side from him.

She couldn't think of a valid reason for her being at the Archives. But then it came to her. “You mentioned needing this book last week before all the regression... stuff... happened. I thought I would stop by and get it for you.”

His brow arched even more dangerously. His face made the very accurate accusation of ' _liar_ '. Abbie gave him a look of her own that clearly responded, ' _You're one to talk_.' Ichabod stood straight, he tucked his hair behind his ears before clasping his hands behind his back. He turned and made to step forward. 

When Abbie moved in the opposite direction, he withdrew his step. They were at an impasse. An actual one this time, Abbie mused as she remembered a recent moment between Ichabod and the other version of her. That brief moment in which she found herself distracted by the thought was long enough for Ichabod to dash around the table and grasp her around the waist before she could make a run for it.

He set her atop the table, one hand at the small of her back to and his hips between her thighs, to keep her from escaping. Not that she would at this point anyway. Not when that moment of clarity entered his eyes as he realized she was not, in fact, the Abbie he thought she was. The clarity was quickly replaced by abject terror as he took a step back; he held up a finger and took a deep breath.

“Since yesterday morning,” Abbie replied without him even asking.

He looked like he was going to be sick as he turned away, hands twitching at his sides. When he turned back toward her, he swallowed hard. “I have... a perfectly logical... explanation for...”

Abbie shook her head. “No you don't. At least not one you can use and I believe it because we had this discussion last night, remember? How long have you been... not confused?”

“Since this morning,” Ichabod replied quietly. He closed his eyes and rubbed them. When his hands dropped, he sighed with defeat. “If I had known it was you...”

“Crane,” Abbie interrupted. “You seem to be forgetting that I was the one that initiated it. So, technically we're both guilty of not being honest. You get a tiny pass because, well, you were kind of confused what was real and what wasn't at the time. If anything, I took advantage of you. So you have no reason to be apologizing.”

“Are you apologizing?” Ichabod asked.

“Do you want me to?”

“For last night? No... never.”

They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment before looking away. Abbie suddenly found some mysterious substance under one of her nails which caught her interest. Ichabod took keen interest in the closest book shelf. He piddled with a plastic label sitting upon on of the shelves. She wondered how the hell blood got under her fingernail.

There was only one way to get past the awkwardness, she realized almost immediately. Like with a band-aid, it'd be best to get everything over and done as quickly as possible. Then let the cards fall where they will.

“Did I...” she started hesitantly. “Did I leave scratch marks on your back?”

The label Ichabod was playing with fell to the floor when his hand jerked. He swooped down immediately to put it back in its rightful place. “A few... yes,” he murmured before casting a quick glance her way then looking away, as a blush crept to his cheeks.

“Sorry about that,” Abbie said. That explained the blood under her nail.

“Don't be,” Ichabod responded quietly.

She could practically see the gears in his head spinning, trying to figure out how to make everything his fault. Or to at least absolve her of any blame. “If it's any consolation,” Abbie piped. “I meant everything I said.”

A new blush was creeping to his cheeks, for a different reason this time. Soon a shy smile appeared.

“I mean, at first I thought I was in my own dream,” Abbie admitted. “Because of a few things from your family, I realized it was yours. Hell, I was worried at first because I couldn't find any trace of _you_ here. But then... the kids came in. And you came in... and... you looked so... _in love_. With _me_. I just wanted to... enjoy it for a little while. I mean, of all people, you chose me to be your wife and mother of your children... It got me a little emotional.”

The look on Ichabod's face asked, “Who else would I have as my love and mother of my children?” before he vocalized it. Then he seemed to have realized there had been another option. One that had already once been his wife and mother of his child. One of the people that had been relegated to being merely a dear friend in this dream world. _Katrina_.

“Why haven't you ever said anything?” Abbie asked. Yes, they had a similar discussion the night before. But she wanted to hear it now that he _knew_ she was _his_ Abbie. _His_ , as in the Abbie from where he had come from—although if she stopped to think about it, she could also say she was his in a romantic sense as well.

Ichabod tentatively stepped back in front of her, he gently took the book from her and set it upon the table, then took her hands in his. Long fingers cradled and stroked her much smaller ones before pressing her palms to his chest. His heart was racing, she could see trepidation in his eyes. Without words she could tell he was terrified to say it aloud. “You are a formidable force of nature on your best of days, Lieutenant,” he said softly. “Timing never seemed favourable. The fear of saying it at the wrong time and losing you forever... T'was a fate I was unwilling to face.”

“I don't know if we'll remember all of this when we get back home... Just know that if you do, you better say something,” Abbie said. For once, Abbie had no idea what to make of the pondering look on Ichabod's face as his eyes flittered over her face. “Ichabod?”

He gasped softly and a small smile appeared. “My apologies. I was simply wondering how incredibly furious Mother would be if I were to suggest we dine out for lunch.”

“That depends, what are you going to say we will be using the time for?” Abbie asked. “Studying up on how to get out of here... or working on grand baby number three?” Ichabod looked away, a light blush touching his cheeks. “Both?” Abbie tilted her head and grinned when he shot her a flirtatious glance. “It's a dream, right?”

Ichabod sucked in a breath and gave her big puppy dog eyes. “I do quite like the sound of both,” he said gently.

“Then lets grab some books and get back to the house,” Abbie suggested. “Text your mom on the way home.”

  
#  


_“And why would I help you?” Pandora said with a wistful sigh, as she tread her fingers through the glimmering pool of water._

_Jenny clenched her fists at her sides. “Because you'll get bored pretty quickly without any real challenges to your scheme.”_

_The ancient entity slash goddess, whatever she was sighed again. “Very well,” she said. “You are fortunate that you are correct in your assumption. I do quite enjoy toying with the Witnesses. Simply have your sister give him a kiss and he should awaken from his slumber.”_

_Jenny nodded. “Just one small problem. She tried that and she got knocked out too.”_

_Pandora craned her head slowly toward Jenny, her eyes narrowing. “What have you done? Mine was a simple enchantment. Done only to bide myself a little time to make my escape.” She stood. “Take me to where they slumber.”_

_At first Jenny had been apprehensive about taking Pandora to the hospital. Not because she worried she would do something crazy (which was always a possibility) but because the staff had raised eyebrows at Crane's clothes. Jenny could only imagine what they would do at Pandora's._

_She didn't know how the other woman did it but one second she had been in the passenger seat in her cloak and gown, then as soon as she got out of the vehicle, Pandora was dressed surprisingly normal... if normal was dressing in a way that made one think of WWII era fashion._

_Within seconds of arriving to the hospital room, Pandora inhaled sharply. “Someone has interfered with my magic,” she huffed. “But I should be able to reverse it.”_

_“Really? That easy?” Jenny asked._

_“It is quite laughable when mere mortals attempt to perform magic that I spent_ millennia _perfecting,” Pandora replied, sounding almost bored, as though she had hoped it would be a challenge. She drew in a deep breath, held her hands up, and recited an incantation._

_Much to Jenny's surprise, both Abbie and Crane awoke with a loud gasp. Pandora stepped backwards, assessing the two suspiciously. Abbie, wide eyed, took in her surroundings and was first to speak as soon as her eyes fell on Jenny. “Jenny? What happened?”_

_Jenny rushed over to hug her sister. “You're safe. You're both okay that's all that matters...” She looked over at Crane who was clutching his shirt and looking confused by it's very existence. Jenny was even happy to see him awake and hugged him too._

_“Why am I--” he muttered then a horrified expression crossed his features. “Was there an accident? Did I--?” He stammered for words, his hands fidgeting as though torn between pulling his hair or reaching for Abbie._

_Abbie too seemed to have a sudden realization. “Where... Where's Emma and Jeremiah? Are they okay? Please tell me they're okay...” Jenny pulled back and looked between Abbie and Crane in confusion. Abbie's eyes were almost instantly brimming with tears. “Jenny... please. Are they okay?”_

_Jenny shook her head slightly. “Who the hell are Emma and Jeremiah?”_

_Both Crane and Abbie were taken aback. “Our...” Crane said slowly, indicating himself and Abbie. “Children.”_

_“This isn't funny, Jenny,” Abbie said. “Are they okay?”_

_“You two don't... have any children,” Jenny said with uncertainty. She looked over her shoulder when Pandora laughed with delight. “What did you do to them?”_

_Pandora shook her head. “I did nothing,” she responded. “But, I will say this is one of the many ways things can go wrong when you mortals have no idea what you are trifling with.” She turned on her heals. “Have fun trying to fix this one. I am at a loss and can be of no further assistance.”_

_As soon as the other woman was gone, jenny turned back to her sister and Crane. She was momentarily taken aback that Abbie had vacated her bed and the two of them were huddled close to each other in Crane's bed. “So... what is the last thing you two remember?”_

_Crane pondered the question for a moment. “Going to bed.”_

_Abbie nodded after a moment. “Same.” She looked at Jenny pleadingly. “Jenny... what... what's going on?”_

_“I have no idea,” Jenny replied._


End file.
